Pakunoda's Memories
by Visions
Summary: AU. Spider-centric. Machi goes on a 'date'. “Hmph, so chivalry still exists, after all.”
1. Default Chapter

Oy, haven't written in a long time. Ah, well… I'm afraid I have abandoned my old stories. Never fear though, I have a new obsession! Woo-hoo! *victory sign* And here is the product of that new madness. Not many HisokaxMachi stories out there, but I think the couple's interesting. It's got potential. So here goes nothing. Drama, angst, romance, humor (not that much; this is more serious)… Reviews greatly appreciated.

Pakunoda's Memories

He asked her, smiling lightly as always, "Do you always play with them like that?"

Funny how such a quiet voice could shatter the silence so loudly and at the same time, destroy her concentration. 

Her fingers stopped their movements. She had been thinking about the chain-user and Pakunoda's death. And the threads had been dancing in mid-air, twirling like serpents enchanted by some strange melody. Some soundless tune that seemed to surface every time she found herself lost in thought…  

Now, the strings of Nen faded abruptly as she cursed herself for not paying attention, for losing her focus and letting the threads obey foolish whims. 

"Why can't you just keep silent?" she retorted, not bothering to hide her irritation. 

"You seemed to be distracted. I've never seen you let your threads… dance like that," he finished off-handedly. It was an euphemism. A mocking euphemism for "your guard is off, my dear" and his comment veiled a subtle snicker. 

She bristled, annoyed. Once again, she scolded herself for not being more alert. No doubt the bastard clown had long noticed her unconscious display of silly twirling and had been waiting for the opportunity to bring it up. 

"Fool," she muttered under her breath. 

She glared at him openly but in the split second she let her eyes wander away, he managed to close the distance.

"I'm afraid I'm only a clown," he corrected, whispering into her ear. 

Machi didn't allow herself to be surprised by the feel of his breathe upon her skin. It bothered her, though, how vulnerable she was to him at the present moment. Despite how much she hated him, she had already acknowledged that he was the superior fighter. And with that acceptance came caution. Her never-failing instinct told her that he would as soon as kill her as fancy her. And so, she didn't care much for his apparent fascination. In fact, she didn't care at all. 

Still, caution also brought with it a certain degree of tolerance. She would have to put up with the taunting joker. For now, at least.  

"…But I suppose that insult was only meant for yourself, no?"

Slowly, she turned her head and shot him an icy glare. "You're the only fool I see," she told him harshly.

Of course, respect was a whole different matter.

His lips curled upward in a pleased smirk. For a long time, he stared at her. Like a predator calmly analyzing its prey before striking. Finally, cocking his head to one side, he stated, "Why are you afraid of me, Machi-san."

She felt distinctly insulted. Even slightly confused. Which of her actions had given him THAT impression – the one that she wanted least to give? Was it her carefully maintained mask of calm distaste? Her dismissing yet acidic remarks? How in the world had she failed?

Perhaps I didn't call him "fool" enough times, she thought sarcastically in an attempt to find an acceptable answer. 

Finally, she became angry. His words had aroused in her an overwhelming sense of indignation. She wanted to erase the arrogance lurking in his features, to mar them, to watch his body dangle helplessly, hundreds and hundreds of feet up in the air, and then to watch it fall to a horribly mutilating death…

"I'm not," she decided to tell him with a defiant calm that seemed to only amuse him further.

I'm NOT afraid.

He arched an eyebrow thoughtfully, "What if I decided that I wanted to kill you right here and now?"

She had been ready to use her threads the moment he had neared. Now they visibly appeared on her fingers, which were tense and poised. Swiftly, one of her hands reached forward to clamp around his neck. 

"I'm not afraid of anyone," she hissed coldly, stressing the last word. 

"That's what I like about you, Machi-san. You're a good actress," he chuckled even when she tightened her grip, "Just what I would expect of Henka Nen user."

She kept her face an emotionless mask. But the frustration within was growing steadily. For one thing, she could not figure him out. There was an air about him that was enigmatic. Though she was not partial to puzzles, she could not deny that she sometimes wondered about this one. Of course, she never bothered to satisfy her curiosity on any level. No matter how much his eyes enticed her to try, she never attempted to know more than his name. 

The reason was simple enough. It wasn't worth it, neither the effort nor the risk. He managed to capture so well the essence of the thing that he enjoyed most that any desire to find out more about the card-carrying killer were quelled by…. She preferred to call what she felt toward him uncertainties. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of recognizing them as otherwise.

Everything about him was dangerous and playing with him was like playing with Death. 

Then again, sometimes it couldn't be avoided. Like now. When it was just the two of them on guard duty and the rest of the Genrei Ryodan were either in their rooms taking a break or out on business. 

"Hisoka-san… There's something you should know about me…" her lips moved almost imperceptibly. Her voice was neutral as was the norm but also suddenly, deceivingly delicate. 

She knew that he wasn't the least bit thrown by her abrupt change in behavior. No, the look in his mocking eyes was expectant as was the waiting grin on his face. Well then, she wasn't one to disappoint. Her tone resumed its hard, unforgiving quality as she delivered the last half of her two-part speech, "But I'm not here to entertain you."

At the same time, she tried to crush his windpipe. 

"…Machi-chan, that's not… the proper way… to show affection…" the clown told her cheerfully in between breaths.

The fact that he was still taking in air only encouraged her further. 

"Machi-san, let him go."

She turned at the voice, which was casual but full of authority. Reluctantly, she released her hold, "Gomen, Dancho."

The man dressed in black shot a disapproving look to Hisoka, who calmly ignored the silent chatisement, "I know how he enjoys provoking you," turning back, he smiled at her kindly but firmly, "But we can't allow fighting among the Ryodan. Especially not now."

Machi scowled but said nothing. She could not defy the Dancho, after all.

"Call the others," Kuroro said, "We're having a meeting in five minutes in the main room."

"Hai."

"I'll be waiting then," the leader of the Ryodan began to walk away. Before he left the room, however, he paused and addressed the clown sitting impassively in the corner, "And don't bother Machi-san anymore."

"Dancho, that won't be necessary," she spoke up sharply, "I can handle him."

"I'm only trying to save you some inconvenience in the future." 

"It won't be necessary," she repeated. She carefully kept her gaze on the ground as she refused his aid. She couldn't let him see how indignant she was at his offer although her cheeks were burning with the heat of shame.  

"Hai, as you wish then," Kuroro murmured before exiting. 

His absence both relieved and unsettled her. She didn't want Hisoka to think that she needed to hide behind the Dancho to deal with him. She didn't need that kind of protection. She could take care of herself. Heaven knew she had shed enough blood to prove it.

Yet, here they were again. Alone together. 

Her lip curled in distaste. 

Hisoka's sudden giggling broke the unnerving silence but it only served to increase her irritation. "My, my," he remarked in an upbeat tone, clapping his hands as if he had just been entertained, "That was quite the show. You really are a wonderful actress."

"I wasn't acting. I can handle you by myself," she retorted, preparing to carry out Kuroro's orders and gather the other Ryodan members.  

"Oh, really?" he blocked her way with a confident but curious smile, "I'd really love to see you try."

"Don't you ever learn?" she muttered icily, tensing. 

"What can I say?" his eyes twinkled at her. He was obviously enjoying her deepening bad mood, "I'm a fool." 

She frowned, "Move."

He leaned forward until their faces were only centimeters apart and she could see the unsettling desire in his eyes. His voice was husky in its challenge, which was delivered slowly and seductively, "Make me." 

She didn't bother to respond. Instead, she pulled back her arm and attempted to bash his face in. To her displeasure, though, he managed to catch her fist. Then, in a movement too swift to be seen, he had twisted her arm behind her back and forced her against the wall. 

"Then again, perhaps not so much the fool as one would originally think," once again, her skin experienced the feel of his breath. But it was not so much the proximity nor her vulnerable position that frightened her but the victory inherent in his voice. 

He let go of her arm and she turned around cautiously. 

"Have you learned anything yet, my dear Machi?" he asked offhandedly, "Never assume anything about me except," he said the next part as if telling a crucial secret, "that I'm dangerous. That's lesson number one."

She narrowed her eyes at his words but kept quiet. 

He paused as if having an afterthought and then grinned, "But I suppose you already knew that, didn't you?"

She waited for more but he only continued to chuckle to himself.

"If that's all…" Machi said with disdain, moving forward to leave.

Big mistake. The strength with which she was slammed back against the wall caught her off-guard. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth. She looked down to see Hisoka's hands clamped tightly on her shoulders. If a fight was what he wanted… Fists clenching, she gazed back up insolently into his amused expression.

"Lesson number two…" the dangerous joker whispered, "_This_ is how one shows proper affection…"

And quicker than could be detected by the eye, he proceeded to demonstrate. 

Machi's eyes widened in absolute horror as his lips made contact with hers. Powerfully, they claimed her own with an ease that she would not have expected of a killer but with a strength and hint of possessiveness that did not surprise her. For a moment, she remained immobile, shocked at his daring and at the failure of her own defenses. And though she would never admit it, shocked by the sensual warmth of his skin as well.

She paid dearly for her distraction. Hisoka, taking advantage of her stunned state, fully exploited it. Taking advantage of her apparent confusion, he carefully pried open her lips and deepened the kiss. 

The feeling of his tongue moving expertly around her mouth and the moan that escaped unbidden by the both of them brought Machi back to her senses. Reality was jarring. Instantly repulsed by the situation, she kneeled him in the groin with all the force she could muster. 

It was enough, to her relief, to cause Hisoka to break away. The clown, half-gasping from pain, half-panting from pleasure, fell to the floor laughing. The room vibrated with the sound as Machi, disgusted by her own inability to resist, could only watch as the deadly joker was consumed with humor. 

"Damn you," she spat vindictively. 

"Arigatou," he replied sweetly.

Propping himself up with one elbow, Hisoka studied the bristling beauty with interest. Yet though her Nen was flashing with barely restrained rage… though her words were edged with venom… her face still remained remarkably undecipherable. 

The only sign that she was more disturbed the usual was the slight trembling of her shoulders as she fought to keep a hold on her temper. 

She glared at him, golden eyes fierce with hatred. Then, as if figuring out what he most desired from her, the furious light in them faded. With the haughtiness of nobility, she sneered at him before smiling placidly to herself. Turning heel, she ended their rendevouz by walking determinedly out the doors without granting him the satisfaction of another insult.

Hisoka sighed as she departed, somewhat disappointed. He withdrew a card from his deck and placed it to his lips. "Ahh, Machi-chan… I must admit, you're quite the Ice Queen," he remarked fondly to the empty room. 

Twirling the card in his fingers and watching the light strike it to reveal the defiant face of the Queen of Hearts, he smirked to himself, "Then again, melting the ice and making it boil is half the fun."  


	2. Chapter 2

Machi moved carefully through the crowd, avoiding eye contact yet maintaining her course to track down the other Ryodan members. The marketplace was busy and full of people. Yet, she was glad for none of the individuals had qualms about letting the world know about their presence. 

Baka… Hisoka no baka… 

She could not lie to herself. She was still upset by the encounter with Hisoka. In fact, it was rather tempting to go on a killing spree to relieve some of the anger. But that, in addition to useless brooding, was probably what the deranged psycho wanted. So she welcomed the noise of the marketplace as a convenient distraction instead.

…_Touch me again and I'll stitch your lips together…_

Focus. The Dancho wanted everyone at the meeting. Machi's brow furrowed in concentration as she sought out each member of the Phantom Brigade.

It was her duty to keep track of the Spider, which she did by placing thread on each of its eight "legs". When the Spider had been first formed, this had been accepted as the quickest way to get in touch for a meeting. In the past, though, the practice had been disbanded because of complaints of "privacy". 

As if, Machi thought contemptuously, she had cared about what they did in their private lives. 

But now, with the chain-user posing a clear threat, her position had been reassigned. Machi felt one of her threads nearby. Feitan. But before she could hone in on it, her concentration was suddenly broken as she got jostled by some rude bypasser. With an impatient snarl, Machi returned the favor and tripped him after dealing a severe blow to his stomach. 

"Go—gomen nasai…" the man wheezed in pain, glancing up at her in fear. 

She said nothing. Didn't spare the pitiful fool another moment and with a dismissive air, continued on her way. All in all, fetching everybody was a rather bothersome if not a total pain-in-the-ass task.  

The trail led her to a weapons shop. Feitan sensed her just as she entered, turning at her footsteps. Machi briefly noted that there were no other customers present. Behind the counter, an old, shriveled man was shaking as he explained the swords in the exhibit behind him.

"A-and these are over tw-two hundred years old, sir, made by an ancient culture across th-the ocean…"

Feitan put up a hand. The man's frightened speech halted as his head had been abruptly sliced off. Evidently, though, he was well-aware of the possibility. 

"Break's up. There's a meeting in about an hour," Machi said curtly, "Your presence is required."

The man nodded and a voice, subtle and chilling, issued from underneath the black bandanna around his mouth, "Hai. I'll be sure to attend."

"If you see any of the others around, let them know," she informed him, "The Dancho wants everyone there as soon as possible."

"Hai…"

She left him with that.

Walking stealthily once again on the streets, she quickly located another member of the Ryodan. Following the trail, she soon found herself standing in front of a fairly large café shop. The kind that reeked deliciously of coffee and seemed to be designed for poetry readings, artistic discussions, and topics of that nature. It was the sort of place that attracted college students like bees to nectar.

And definitely not the hang-out she had expected. 

Machi paused in front of the door, a tad uncertain before finally confirming the presence. 

Computer boy. Shalnark. 

She caught a whiff of mocha, sweet and subtle, as she entered and her ears were assailed with chatter just as noisy as could be found outside. Scanning the room, she spotted the blonde, talking earnestly in a crowd. For a moment, she hung back. He blended in well. He was speaking animatedly, a light in his eyes that was astonishingly alive and excited. The light that was common in students when they were discussing a beloved subject, not the light found in a killer that was used to manipulation and massacre.

It was so unusual and unexpected that she almost didn't want to put it out. Almost.

She edged close and the transformation was instant. He was immediately aware; the light faded as if it had never been. His speech slackened and his shoulders tensed visibly. 

"Dai-chan?" a girl questioned with concern, "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, you seem nervous, all of a sudden," another member of the audience observed, "Want more coffee, Daisuke?"

…Daisuke? So he had given a false name. Machi watched passively as Shalnark responded to more worried suggestions of "Get another cappacino, Daisuke!" and "Wanna lie down, Dai-chan?" 

"I'm fine," he assured them, flashing a fake grin, "Just suddenly… cold, that's all."

The effect was somewhat humorous. Several girls blushed and shoved their warm drinks in his direction, urging him to accept their generosity. Machi studied the scene carefully and concluded that Shalnark was not using his Nen on the people. She realized with an uncomfortable jolt that the offers, the friendliness, the fond regard directed in his direction—all of it was real. 

"Really, I'm feeling better," Shalnark's voice broke through her thoughts. The blonde was smiling politely, "Arigatou, minna, But I'm afraid it's time for me to leave."

"But Dai-chan, you haven't finished your explanation on Kitogome's novel!"

"That'll have to wait. Maybe next time," he replied with such an apologetic expression that even Machi couldn't figure out whether it was genuine or not, "Gomen nasai."

Groans of disappointment flooded the air. 

Shalnark departed from the group. Machi waited patiently as he approached. He was sober now, even somewhat glum. The smile was gone, replaced by the darkness she was used to seeing in her fellow Spiders. Upon greeting her, he raised his eyebrow apprehensively, "I suppose you'll want an explanation?"

"Hardly," she said flatly, "What you do in your free time, whether you call yourself Daisuke or Shalnark, none of it matters to me."

He laughed a bit at that, evidently relieved. "No, I suppose not." He added, "You probably wouldn't have understood anyway."

She remained unruffled, "There's a meeting in a hour."

"Hai…"

"Notify the others, if you can."

"Hai…"

They quieted their voices. Somebody was heading directly toward them. A man dressed in a clean, neat black suit and wearing a pair of fashionable sunglasses stopped before them. Hanging on his arm was an attractive woman. She bore a haughty air and was glaring pointedly at them. 

Machi crossed her arms and stared coolly back. But most of her attention was remained on the man. A sudden suspicion nagged her in the back of her head. He looked familiar. That in itself was unsettling. 

"Daisuke-san… who's your friend?" the stranger's voice was smooth, "She's very pretty."  
  


Machi openly ignored the compliment.

 "I'm glad, Dai-chan," the woman purred, "For a while, you had us all doubting your sexuality."

Machi looked curiously at Shalnark to see his reaction to such rudeness. Those who knew who they really were wouldn't dare such a feat. Those who carelessly insulted the Spider never survived the consequences. Indeed, it was uncommon – indeed, very out of place -- to see a Ryodan member addressed this way.

A look of fury flashed briefly on his face before fading to controlled passivity. But the blonde's Nen had risen slightly and Machi could tell that he was bristling underneath the calmness.

"Do you want something, Jacobs-san?" Shalnark asked, feigning courteous interest.

"Well, if it isn't too much trouble, I wouldn't mind being introduced to Machi-san."

"As you wish," Shalnark began, "This is my friend, Kira Togashi. Kira, this is—" 

He stopped abruptly, having just processed the implications of the stranger's request. His forehead furrowed with surprise as he stated disbelievingly, "You know her real name."

He turned questioningly to Machi, who had narrowed her eyes and whose lips were set fiercely.

"Let's go," she said icily. Without waiting for a response, she started to leave.

"It was pleasant meeting you again after all these years." The voice was as cheerful as she remembered. It drew her as it always had done, stopped her against her will. Her feet had gone motionless. 

"I must admit, I was very surprised to see you again …Machi-san."

"Yuki-chan…" the woman interrupted, having missed the whole exchange. She was pouting like a spoiled child, "We're going to be late for the party. You promised this stupid book discussion would only take a few minutes."

Her features hardening, Machi resumed her sojourn toward the exit. 

Within seconds, Shalnark had caught up, looking somewhat dazed. "What happened back there? You know the guy?"  

"That's none of your business," she snapped. 

Shalnark stared at her curiously. Her Nen was no longer surpressed but flaring wildly, warning off any potential pickpockets and even frightening a couple of experienced murderers lurking in the crowd. She was agitated. That much was obvious but it was a rare occurrence. The thread-using girl was usually quite composed in all situations. He had never seen her this bothered. By a small, almost insignificant incident, no less. 

"Ano… if you don't want to talk about it…" he said tentatively.

"I don't."

"I don't know him very well. He doesn't come very often to my, er, discussions," the blonde looked away as if embarrassed by bringing up the topic again, "But Jacobs-san has a good reputation. Very wealthy, or so I've heard. He owns one of those classy auctioning companies."

"So?" she glared at him, "Just drop the whole thing, okay?"

 "Hai, hai, I guess that would be best," Shalnark nodded somewhat apologetically, "It's just… I wasn't expecting that kind of encounter. I didn't expect that you would know any of the people there."

 "Hmph," she snorted with a disdainful glance at him, "Well, I wasn't expecting to find you here either."

He shrugged sheepishly, "Yeah …it is rather unusual, huh? For a member of the Genrei Ryodan to be visiting cafes and talking about novels; not your typical assassin thing to do. But I guess it's probably Pakunoda's fault…"

She stopped at that. Noone had spoken about Pakunoda's death yet. Though it wasn't technically grieving, her loss was mourned on many levels. Pakunoda had been valuable, her ability to read minds irreplaceable. Besides that, or perhaps more than that, she had always been the gentler side of the Genrei Ryodan. The less disturbed and more peaceful side anyway. It was long whispered among them that she sometimes cried for her victims when alone in her room… Now they knew she had…She had been the proof that they were still human, after all…

"What do you mean?" Machi demanded, uneasy, "How is Pakunoda to blame?"

Shalnark refused to meet her eyes, "The memories that she gave us. I think they have some sort of influence over us. At least that's what I suspect."

"What?"

"Along with the information about the chain-user, I think she may have given each of us fragments of her personal memories. Memories of her past and …all that come with it," he explained, a distant, dreamy look in his eyes, not unlike what Pakunoda used to wear. 

"I still don't understand."

"Well…" he hesitated before stiffening his resolve to share what he knew, "… Pakunoda used to be a kindergarten teacher."

Machi scoffed disbelievingly, "A teacher?"

"Hai, and this wasn't before she joined the Genrei Ryodan."

"Are you telling me," she said as realization dawned, "that when Pakunoda wasn't helping us slaughter and loot, she was teaching a bunch of brats how to share?"

"She taught them many things," Shalnark answered seriously, still with that faraway expression, "She wanted them to remember her and she wanted to teach them not to become like her."

There was a pause.

"Shalnark, don't be stupid. She's not like Feitan." Feitan had wanted to experience what it would be like killing the same person twice. For this express purpose, he had once paid her three million dollars just to stitch a decapitated head back onto the body. He had been curious as to whether that would bring the person back to life, despite her warning that such a feat was impossible. 

"I should hope not," Shalnark remarked, "Nobody's …quite like Feitan."

Machi stated bluntly, "What I meant is that she couldn't possibly be that twisted. Phinks maybe, not Pakunoda."

"Point taken. People like us shouldn't be allowed around little children, neh?" The blonde smiled wryly, "That's what my initial reaction was, too. I was confused at first. I didn't know why Pakunoda would do such things. But I've gone through these memories a couple of times and I think I'm beginning to understand…" 

Silence followed as they walked side-by-side, each deep in contemplation.

After a while, Shalnark asked, "What memories did you receive, Machi?"

Ones that she did not want, that's for sure. The purple-haired girl's expression darkened as her interest in the conversation dimmed sharply. "I don't walk to talk about it."  

Briefly, it seemed as if he would protest. But Machi wore a straightforward, stubborn look that said her refusal was final and there was nothing that could be done to change it. She would not yield and they both knew it.

"Well… alright, if that's how you want it." Shoulders slumping and somewhat regretful, Shalnark bid her farewell before departing towards the meeting.

Emotionlessly, Machi watched him go. She knew she was being unfair. He had confided in her, after all. But she had never been comfortable with sharing secrets, especially ones that privately unnerved her. Her nature wouldn't allow it. No matter how painful and lonely things got, certain revelations would never pass from her lips. She had promised herself this a long time ago.  

But such promises had their price and for the slightest moment, there was a fleeting emotion that made her sigh quietly to herself. 

"Mommy," a nearby child whispered solemnly, staring audaciously at the oblivious killer, "The pretty lady… Her eyes…"

"Huh? What did you say, Tammy-kun?" the mother said off-handedly, busily inspecting merchandise. 

Blink and it was replaced by steel-like determination. She had orders to carry out. 

The Dancho was waiting. Machi strode off in a business-like manner. The closed, furtive mask was in place once more.

The child watched her go, astonished by the sudden transformation, "Nevermind, Mommy. She doesn't look sad anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

"What's the plan, Dancho?" Shizuku spoke up eagerly. The young girl had been noticeably depressed with recent events. Then again, that could apply to all of them. Nobunaga still looked enraged. Feitan, like herself, exhibited nothing but controlled passivity and just a tinge of disconcertment. But Franklin and the others openly wore sober, gloomy expressions. 

Machi glanced around at the sober faces of her teammates. Her eyes landed on Hisoka's cunning smile. He waved cheerfully and blew her a kiss. She turned away in annoyance. Well, most of them were upset anyway. 

"Patience," Franklin gently chided, seeming weary yet wise, "Let the Dancho explain everything first."

On cue, they all turned toward their leader. 

He had his eyes closed and Machi, as she always did, marveled at his trust in them. They were all murderers, experts at the game. All shed blood without remorse. Yet, he ignored this and placed a confidence in the Spider that was deeper than what most religious fanatics could fathom. She wondered if she would dare do what he was doing before them—remove his defenses, close his eyes, and rely instead on blind faith.

Probably not. But that was why he was Dancho. 

"Dancho?" Kurotopi questioned softly.

The black-haired man seemed not to hear. His lips moved swiftly, as if reciting. But none of them could not hear the words. Machi had a feeling that they were not supposed to hear.

"Hush," Franklin interceded firmly and they simply watched on in silence. .

The deaths of Pakunoda and Ubogin had long thrown a dark mood over the whole gathering. Unlike previous meetings, there was no longer the feeling of greedy anticipation. The usual thrill of being together had been effectively destroyed. It had been worse while the Dancho was gone, searching for a Nen remover. That period had been filled with internal dissension and marked by frequent bickering. 

But now that he was back, Machi could sense their spirits lifting. Things were bound to get better. They had to. He was the Dancho, after all. She looked at the man before her with respect.

"Gomen," he apologized, opening his eyes and smiling with that elegant grace that never ceased to calm them, "I was just saying a prayer." 

Nobody asked for who. 

"I suppose you've all been wondering where I've been. You've all got questions, no doubt. I'll try my best to answer them." 

"Did you find a Nen-remover?" Hisoka suddenly asked. Machi narrowed her eyes. It was unusual for the clown to show such blatant interest. Most of the time, he lounged about during meetings as if bored. 

But now there was a wild emotion in his eyes that Machi found troubling. She pursed her lips and scowled at him. Most of the Genrei Ryodan followed suit, especially Nobunaga. The samurai's hand rested tensely on the handle of his katana, his face contorted in an angry glare. 

_Hisoka no baka._ The question felt… inappropriate. The Dancho had been gone so long, his absence a worrisome situation that had pulled at all of their heartstrings, whether they wished it or not. And to deal him this question first, of all the ones that were plaguing their minds, upon his return. It wasn't right, it was almost rude.

Ignoring the hostility around him, the clown pressed, "Well?"

Kuroro nodded, "Hai, I found one when I headed East." 

"So can you fight?" the joker drawled.

"Shut your damned mouth!" Nobunaga could hold back no longer. Patience had never been the man's virtue. Now, he was trembling with animosity, aching to attack. If asked the reason for this flare of fury, he would not be able to answer. But the answer laid somewhere in the depths of his grief, in his mourning for his best friend, in the unexplainable suspicion that the bastard clown had something to do with it. Nobunaga would not be surprised by how close he was to the truth; he had never liked Hisoka anyways.  

Hisoka raised an eyebrow, "Ohhhhh? The minute the Dancho returns, _you_ start giving orders? My, my, how rude…"

"Say that again!?!?" the long-haired man snarled, starting forward, "Who's the one being rude?!?!"

"Nobunaga…" Kuroro sighed. He had sensed stored-up frustration within the man and had been waiting for its release. This outburst wasn't unexpected, "Calm down."

Hisoka snickered as the man forced himself to obey, muttering curses under his breath. 

Machi found her patience snapping as well. Hisoka was standing next to her, too busy sniggering at Nobunaga to notice her irritation. A perfect opportunity to avenge herself for that stolen kiss. She contemplated knocking him out and resigned herself to doing so only if he asked another idiotic question again. A thought caught her; she would be breaking the rules…

"So, Dancho, now that Pakunoda's gone, find any hot girls to substit—"

Rules be damned. Machi karate-chopped at the joker's neck with all her might. He dropped like a stone. She smugly recalled that among the Genrei Ryodan, she was the sixth strongest in arm wrestling. Hisoka, lying unconscious at her feet, was proof of that. 

"Machi!" The Dancho was astonished. His black eyes clearly showed his shock, "You know the rules!"

"Gomen," she said, not bothering to offer any explanation. But it was obvious that she didn't mean it.

Kuroro sighed again to himself. Only a few weeks away and already the Spider was losing control. "You'll have to be punished," he said heavily.  

For a moment, his gaze of accusation and disapproval almost made her hesitate. Almost made her feel shame. Against her will, her own gaze dropped briefly to the floor. Then, she remembered who she was and her chin lifted proudly. She was Machi with a heart as cold and hard as ice. There was no room there for regret. 

"I know, Dancho," she said, barely able to refrain from smiling, "And you may punish me as you like."

She hoped that she sounded somewhat penitent. Yet, her defiant eyes betrayed her. Kuroro pursed his lips, frowning. In the silence, Machi grew nervous but she maintained her cool, unruffled exterior. Deep down, she knew that he knew there was nothing that he could do to make her feel remorse.  

"I'll deal with this later," he said finally, "But first, business. This may seem unnecessary to state. But our main objective is going after the chain-user."

Nobunaga cheered loudly. Shanaark smiled in open relief. 

"I'm sure Pakunoda has given most of what you need to know… His appearance… His past… His skills…" He paused, sad and forlorn, "…Although the information came at a heavy price."

For a moment, Machi held her breath, wondering if he was going to cry. It seemed so strange to see their leader weep so openly, but it had happened before. A light stream of tears trickled down his face but that was all. His voice remained the same, strong and calm. Like an anchor and they all clung to it. The words flowed steadily as he outlined the plan. 

But by the time it he finished explaining, the Spider was gaping at their leader in disbelief.

"Split up?" Nobunaga said the word almost weakly, "Now?"

Machi bit her lip in confusion. To split up now was too dangerous. Together they were strong, undefeatable. Alone, they were vulnerable. As much as she hated to admit, she doubted she could handle the chain-user by herself.

"But Dancho, isn't this unwise?" Shanaark frowned, "We would be comparatively weaker apart."

"Easy prey," Phinks added in dismay.

"Well, we won't be completely separated."

The Dancho smiled at all their uncertainties, reassuring them that he knew what he was doing. He had figured out the chain-user long ago, he claimed. Machi watched him carefully. Her instinct told her that there was something that he wasn't telling them. Something drastically important. 

"Machi, Shizuku, Feitan, Phinks, Shalnark, Hisoka," he announced, "You six will divide into groups of two and infiltrate the three major Mafia-owned buildings in Yorkshin."

"Infiltrate? How?" Shizuku furrowed her forehead.

"Well, these buildings also function as mansions and those sort of places are always needing more servants."

Feitan snorted, obviously unhappy with the idea.

Machi frowned in displeasure. Go undercover as servants? Did that mean she would have to wash dishes? The prospect wasn't appealing, to say the least. She hated washing dishes.

Shalnark was puzzled, "Won't we be recognized?"

"Probably. But it doesn't matter," the Dancho replied confidently, "They lost the war they tried to wage on us. They won't bother us even if they know who we are. However, that in itself is unlikely as well since only the Mafia elite are aware of what we look like. The ordinary people generally don't have a clue."

"That's true…" the blonde admitted, becoming quiet as he turned the plan over in his head, "And the bounty on our heads _is_ gone…"

"So no one will have the guts to come after us," Phinks stated matter-of-factedly, smirking.

"Not 'no one'…" Kurotopi said. Noone could see her face behind the long strands of hair but her Nen revealed how apprehensive she was. She had long grasped the purpose of this plan. It was simple but dangerous. 

"The chain-user will come," Kuroro finished, "He will come and try to catch one of you when you least expect it. But the rest of us will be on constant alert, ready and watching. And before he makes his move, we'll make ours."

Nevertheless, the chosen six tensed visibly. Well, minus Hisoka, who was lying still on the ground.

"But Dancho…" Phinks began to voice the doubt on all their minds.

For a moment, their leader seemed upset. His aura shifted just the slightest bit from persuasive to hesitant. Picking up on this, Machi shrugged uncomfortably to herself. Her instinct was bothering her again. But this time, she didn't want to listen for it put the Dancho in a negative light. Still, it nagged, annoying and vague. 

As if sensing her struggle, Kuroro smiled at her with a gentle expression that almost won her confidence had.her instinct not persisted. 

But it continued to warn, There's a secret in the Dancho's smile today… 

"Phinks, when have I ever let you down?" Kuroro spoke smoothly, turning back. His voice reminded her of the first time he had gathered them to form the Spider. It was rich, persuasive, and because of the occasion, just a bit hurt.

"Never…" 

"Have I ever done anything to give you reason not to trust me?"

"Never…"

"Then do it. Just trust me." 

That, too, was from the past. It rang through all their memories, as it was meant to. He had told them those exact words on their first mission. At that time, the Spider had nearly been destroyed by fear of exposure and punishment. But the risk paid off. Their first mission had been an absolute success, earning them notoriety and wealth beyond their wildest imaginations. It proved the strength of the Spider and the wisdom of the Dancho. More importantly, it sealed their loyalty. 

For some reason, she knew that Kuroro had delivered that line on purpose. Machi was sure that Phinks recalled it just as surely as she did because the young man ceased all protests immediately. 

All that was left was a heavy resignation, "Hai, Dancho."

Kuroro clapped his hands cheerfully, "Well, I guess that ends it then, neh? Our next meeting will be—" 

"What will we do with the chain-user once we catch him, Dancho?" Franklin questioned abruptly. 

Did he also sense something wrong, too? Machi wondered. So she wasn't the only one. There was a hint of uneasiness on the giant's face. 

"Kill him, of course!" Nobunaga said.

"We'll offer him an opportunity to join first—"

"Nani??!!" the samurai exclaimed in disbelief, "Dancho!!"

"—and if he refuses, we kill him," he finished, ignoring the horrified man who had dropped his katana due to shock. It clattered loudly as each of them pondered the possibility of recruiting the chain-user. It almost seemed ludicrous. 

And yet…

A few stole glances at the still sleeping Hisoka. Being apart of the Genrei Ryodan didn't mean you had to earn the affection of your fellow teammates. After all, none of them really liked Hisoka. Still, he had qualified for the Spider at the expense of a former member. And now, he was one of them. And if someone like the deranged clown could make it on the team… Well then. 

"Does that satisfy you, Nobunaga? We give the boy a choice. If he joins, he lives. If he doesn't, he dies." 

"Dancho…" the man said weakly, wanting to object but not daring to.

"He won't join," Machi told Kuroro. 

He looked at her, shoulders slumping slightly, "Instinct?"

She nodded. She had seen enough of their enemy through Pakunoda's memories to make the judgement. The chain-user was like the young Hunter boy, the one with jet-black hair and fiery temper. He would die before joining them. 

"And I don't think he will fall for the bait either." He was too damn intelligent. And because of that, the real danger laid not in acting as prey but in being outsmarted by a clever hunter.

"Ahhhh…" Kuroro slapped his forehead at the news, "I should probably revise the plan then."

He was obviously disappointed. 

"No…" Machi said, feeling slightly guilty, "I don't mean to make you change it."

"But your instincts are always right."

The remark caused a flash of resentment within the girl. She disliked it when people said that, as if she could never be wrong, as if her predictions were always one hundred percent accurate. She never said that they were. Granted, they were usually correct but that didn't mean they would always be. Perhaps she was just on a lucky streak. Whatever it was, she didn't want the responsibility for influencing others and changing their decisions and consequently, their lives. 

Especially not when the existence of the Spider was at stake.

"Dancho…" she said, almost as if pleading. She was already regretting having spoken up,  "It's just a feeling. Please don't read too much into it. I'm just guessing, after all." 

"But Machi, your instincts have never gone wrong before," Shizuku said and there was a general murmur of agreement, "And he really doesn't look like the type who would want to join us."

For an instant, the thread Nen-user wanted to smack the girl back into silence. Instead, she glared, "Well, if you went by appearance alone, neither are you."

"Don't bicker," the Dancho instructed and Shizuku closed her mouth obediently. He gazed calmly at Machi and then with a business-like air, he said, "Shall I pretend then that I never heard that?"

"If you want." She was a bit surprised. Never in the past had he ignored her instincts, not even when she had urged him to disregard them. Nevertheless, the weight of responsibility was gone from her shoulders now. Overall, she was relieved that he was sticking to the original plan. If something were to go wrong, it would no longer be her fault.  

He gave a curt nod, "I will then." To the rest of the members, "The next meeting will be in two weeks. If nothing happens, I'll think of something new."

But there was a wry grin on his mouth that suggested something would happen. As if, somehow, in some way, he _knew_ that something would happen. Machi frowned again. There was something about his expression… She couldn't figure it out but comprehension was just beyond her reach… 

"Machi?"

She jerked out of her contemplation. The room had emptied and the only people left were her, Hisoka – still on the ground -- and Kuroro. "I was just thinking," she said.

He walked closer to her, saying abruptly, "Alright, I've think you've been punished enough."

"What do you mean?" she was startled by his words. Rather baffled, actually. He had executed the punishment already? When? How? And more importantly – she was dreading the answer to this one -- What?

"O-ha-you…" a distinctly familiar voice pronounced the words with a casual drawl. 

Machi paled when she realized it came from below. Looking down, she met a pair of delighted eyes that were staring unashamedly upward into her kimono.  

"Nice panties," Hisoka commented with a wicked smirk. He mentally counted the seconds before the ice queen went ballistic. He estimated three seconds at the most. One… Two… Three…

No reaction. 

Hisoka quirked his eyebrow in a  'Huh, would you look at that.' manner. 

A deadly whisper, thinly lined with venom, "Exactly…. Exactly how long have you been awake?"

"Hmmm…" The clown pretend to think and then said off-handedly, "Now if I told you that, you'd probably hit me again."

She cracked her knuckles loudly and the sound reverberated across the room. "Were you… awake the whole time?" she asked again in that strained tone.

"If I was?"

"Dancho! Did you kno—" Machi trailed off as she met the amused gaze of her leader. 

A sly smile graced the man's lips. He brushed his bangs away from his face and remarked off-handedly, "I suppose I may have noticed that Hisoka was acting the part of a hentai."

Machi took a slow, deep breath. She was trying not to appear disgruntled but it was difficult. For one thing, her right eyebrow would not cease twitching. The outrage was overwhelming. And the way that clown bastard was looking at her, arrogant satisfaction all over his painted face… It was enough to make her scream. 

"Awww, Machi-chan," Hisoka laughed, appreciating her fury, "Don't be so embarrassed. I was rather… impressed." 

Her threads appeared on her fingers. She advanced, murderous vengeance as her sole objective. Maybe he was strong, but so she was. And if he were better, it would not be by much. Part of her brain was telling her to ignore this transgression. Ignore it and leave with as much dignity as she could salvage. If she fought, she would lose. It went against reason to pick a fight that one couldn't win.

"Ano… who would've thought that you wore pink panties?"

…It didn't matter if she lost the battle so long as she made him feel lots and lots of pain the process…

She was close enough to strangle him. He was lying at her feet, after all. And soon, he would be lying in a pile of blood. Her lips curved upwards in a fatally beautiful smile as she prepared to attack.

A second later and she standing on the opposite of the room, having been transported against her will. She glared at Kuroro, who had his book out. She was about to protest when he said,  "Haven't learned your lesson yet?" 

Her eyes widened as he used his Nen again. This time, she found herself in mid-air, high and helpless. 

"The rules are meant for a reason, Machi," the Dancho told her strictly, "Especially now, it's important to keep them. And if you can't abide, you'll just have to be punished until you do."

At that, she felt his Nen leave her. She was dropping at a rapid speed. Thoughts flew like lightning in her mind. Should she attempt to save herself? But that was futile for that was what he was punishing her for. And if she defied him, he would only punish her again and most likely, with something worse. Her logic told her to shut up and simply take it. With angry acceptance then, she braced for the impact. The ground would be hard as a rock.

Instead, she landed on something relatively soft. Strong arms caught her, preventing her from hitting the floor, and enclosed around her firmly. She gaped at Hisoka, momentarily at a loss for words. In a swift movement, she then found herself pulled close until her lips were nearly brushing against his.

"Ohayou again," he murmured, licking his lips in anticipation. 

To her utter horror, she suddenly felt a warmth in her cheeks that was both alien and undeniable. Her disgust mounting, she couldn't help but hate every minute of this. Looking over his shoulder, the Dancho was watching with almost an apologetic expression. Evidently, he had found her weakness and had decided to use it to keep her in line. Meaning… he had planned her current torture.

Damn you, she thought bitterly.

On the other hand, Hisoka was enjoying himself immensely.

There was the sudden thrill as if it had been raining gold and he had just caught all of it. But in a sense, this was better than wealth. She was evidently in her shocked state, a rare occurrence but also a golden opportunity that he would never pass up. 

He inhaled deeply. She smelled good and she felt very warm. He let a finger stroke her cheek, which was burning hot and an unusual shade of… He paused and then blinked as if he couldn't believe his eyes. 

Regaining her focus, Machi growled, "Let go of me!"

Hisoka stared at her curiously and then began to laugh. But he did as he was told. Machi stood up and stalked angrily out of the room. He watched her go almost regretfully. But his remorse was lost on the beauty as she vanished from sight. Hisoka shrugged off any lingering emotions and turned to the remaining figure, "Kawaii, neh?" 


	4. Chapter 4

Ahh, thanks for all the reviews so far! I'm so glad that you readers gave constructive criticism instead of flames. I'm all the more encouraged to write so arigatou! ^_^ I'll keep in mind all the advice provided but I apologize in advance if any OOC occurs. I've watched a couple of eps of HunterxHunter but not a whole bunch so bear with me. Thanks once again and now on with the story!

Machi's footsteps faded away, leaving the two men alone. There was a casual silence although both knew the other's intentions. Intentions that were neither generous nor kind. Yet, they smiled at each other with subtle understanding. After all, maintaining the façade of cool control was part of the game. 

First, the small talk.

"Kawaii, neh?" The question dangled in the air.

"Machi's always been very beautiful," came the neutral reply. Kuroro sighed privately to himself. No doubt, Machi was beside herself right now. The woman could not stand teasing of any kind with the exception of her own taunts. He was going to have to work hard to compensate for his actions, especially since he still needed her cooperation.

Hisoka sighed in a mocking imitation of a lovesick fool, "Haaaiii…  I can imagine…"

Kuroro remarked, "I remember, you took a liking to her the first time you joined…"

The killer clown shrugged, "It's generally boring around here. But she's more intriguing than the rest."

"She won't be easy to win. Machi's not one for love. She's had bad experiences."

Hisoka arched an eyebrow, "Who said it had to do with love? I like… challenges."

"Hm. Well, I can't say you've made much progress but I think you are starting to get to her."

"Good," Hisoka licked his lips again, "But she's not my real target." His eyes darted toward the other, the dim light illuminating a fierce need and joy. He looked almost half-crazed with impatience.

The leader of the Genrei Ryodan said nothing.

Hisoka calmed himself. It was not time yet, "Why didn't you tell them?"

"They don't need to know," was the response.

"Surely," the joker drawled, "you know what a threat I am?"

"Of course."

"What makes you think I won't turn on any one of them when they least expect it?" 

"Because then the rest of us would come and hunt you down." 

Hisoka's expression became a hidden, almost contemplative look. He studied the head of the Spider who seemed not the least bit bothered. Kuroro was not the type to lie regarding these sorts of things. He didn't make empty threats and they both knew it. 

"Why then are you keeping me around? I'm a traitor to the Spider."

The other's simple grin faded briefly. Hisoka felt a small thrill of triumph. Ahhh, so the man wasn't as untouchable and emotionless as one would assume. You just needed to press the right buttons.  

"I won't forget," Kuroro said coldly, "But at the moment, you have the potential to be very important to us."

The clown pulled out his cards and began to shuffle them about aimlessly, "And what makes you think I'll willingly help?"

"That's simple."

Without warning, Hisoka threw one of his razor sharp cards. To a normal person's eye, it was a mere blur. A specially packaged Death-in-an-instant. 

But Kuroro caught it easily and with a sharp jerk of his hand, returned it equally swiftly back to its owner. Hisoka moved his head a few centimeters to the right, just barely avoiding danger. The card struck soundly into the wall behind him.  

"If you help us, I'll give you what you want," Kuroro said casually.

The joker considered and then questioned teasingly, "And what _do_ I want exactly? Can you tell me?" 

"…The fear before falling. The joy of ending," he spoke poetry in a way that mesmerized his enemy, "You want death."

Every word was truth. Hisoka chuckled and the two locked eyes once more. This time, there were no fake smiles but a genuine admiration and anticipation. They were the same, in a way. If there was to be a fight, he would not be the only one looking forward to it. As if proving this, Kuroro made the first move; he stepped forward with his hand before him.  

"I can give you what you want," he repeated and the light glimmered dark on the cross on his forehead. His gaze was intense and Hisoka marveled at the solemn beauty that surrounded this man. It was beyond physical. There was an inner character of determination and fierce strength that outshone the mere attractiveness of his face. More than that, a dark quality that soiled this loveliness or, in Hisoka's eyes, simply enhanced it. Here was a heart that dreamt happy nightmares and a soul that never broke black promises. 

_Shake on it… if you dare._

Hisoka laughed and took the offered hand without hesitation, "Deal, Dancho." 

But you're wrong, Kuroro. The death I want isn't my own… 

~@@@~

The atmosphere of the whole room became heavy with Machi's entrance. The rest of the Genrei Ryodan cringed involuntarily as she approached. Her Nen was smothering, burning. Her cheeks were an odd shade of pink and one of her eyebrows was twitching erratically. She was tense, ready to lash out at anything and anyone.

Phinks raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth as if ready to say something

.

Machi glared at him, like a cat silently hissing.

She was not in the mood for one of his jokes. He shrugged and remained silent. 

"What happened?" Feitan was the only one brave enough to ask. If only because he really didn't care, "Were you punished?"

"None of your damn business," she spat, crossing her arms as she sat down. She struggled to compose herself. It was hard to erase the emotions raging within her. The best she could do was put on a brooding front and even then, everyone could tell she was in a bad mood. Her temper flared as she relived the last ten minutes in her mind. 'Bad mood' was an understatement.

Nobunaga stepped forward, a-heming uncomfortably. 

"Nani?" she growled. 

"I just wanted to say… If you hadn't done it, I would've chopped his head off."

He was thanking her, in a sense. But she was not going to appreciate his gratitude. In fact, it only irked her more.

"I didn't do it for you," she told him coldly.

"Well, the punishment was undeserved, in my opinion."

"Me, too," voiced Franklin, "The Dancho's acting odd." Shalnark and Kurotopi nodded. 

She couldn't help but scoff privately at their support. It was somewhat comforting but overall, worthless. She had already been punished. Nothing they said could erase her humiliation at the hands of the Dancho. Nothing except maybe Hisoka's gruesome death but that wasn't likely.

"But Machi broke the rules," Shizuku stated, "Doesn't the Dancho have the right…" She trailed off, uncertain as reproachful looks were shot in her direction.

"Hmph," Nobunaga muttered, "The Dancho does have that right. But… Hisoka's a bastard."  

There were murmurs of agreement. 

"But the rules…" 

Machi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Shizuku had long ago established her fixation for adhering to the rules. Normally, Machi admired the girl for her steadfastness. Even if she weren't as strong and clever as the rest of them, Shizuku more than made up for it by being one of those who stuck firmly by the Spider's laws. But now, this virtue was nothing short of annoying. 

"I'm not angry at the Dancho," Machi said crossly. _At least not as angry as I am at Hisoka_, she added silently, "So stop preaching."

The girl stared at her with an open sadness. From behind glasses, black eyes shined with apology, "Gomen, Machi…" 

Against her will, the purple-haired girl was oddly touched, even puzzled. Shizuku was never one to appear troubled. Usually, she just accepted everything as it was. When she had first joined, she had won their approval with her tolerant, unquestioning nature. Her cluelessness was a bonus as it added both distance and a touch of innocence. At the tender age of nineteen, she had found her calling: she was the perfect Spider. 

Shizuku could not be touched, not by her comrades nor by the murders she committed willingly. And half-awake, half-asleep, not there but not completely here, loyal to death and obedient in life--this was how they welcomed her.

But for now, the distance had been breached. The young girl seemed affected by something. Sad, even. Her fingers went unconsciously to the upside-down cross on her shirt, a sign of her reverence for their leader. 

"Gomen," she said again, "I'm just tired of all this fighting. Now that the Dancho's back, I don't want any of us to fight anymore."

Her glance flittered to the side. Machi followed and was greeted with the sight of Pakunoda's grave. The lit candles that had been carefully arranged were the only source of light in the darkness.

Machi felt a pang that came and went. She softened a little as she remembered the memories that Pakunoda had left her. "Hai, there's no need to fight anymore," she said in a subdued voice. She was no longer furious with the Dancho either. All that was left was a hollow regret. 

"So…" Phinks sidled up to her curiously, "What the Dancho do to you? Why were you blushing when you came in?"

A second later, he was stumbling backward, clutching his eye and howling in pain. 

"I told you to wait before asking," Feitan remarked, tone slightly admonishing. He studied the bruised eye on his partner's face with admiration. Turning to Machi, he praised, "Nice…"

"Hmpf," she said, ignoring the rare compliment. 

"Machi! The rules!" Shizuku was stunned. 

"Don't worry," she assured, "It was an accident. Honest." But she was smirking to herself and anyone with half a brain could tell that she had lied. The real truth was, punching Phinks had been refreshing. 

"An accident, MY ASS!" snarled the victim. His eye was already bruising horribly and swelling. 

"Gomen… my hand slipped." 

"I'll make you regret it," he stalked towards her, fists clenched, Nen flaring. 

She crossed her legs and glanced at him with an expression of dislike and boredom. And then her beautiful features became fierce with challenge and she motioned with her fingers for him to bring it on.   

"Bitch…" he cursed at her, "You should've died instead of Pakunoda…"

Her eyes narrowed with hatred. Phinks really knew how to piss her off. He surpassed her in strength but in overall combat, they were well-matched. She had dealt him a beating a while back but apparently, he had forgotten it. No matter. She wanted this fight. Her whole being ached for it. The day had been nothing but repressed anger, simmering tension, and here was a perfectly good chance to let it all out. 

Shizuku stood between them firmly. "I can't allow this," she declared, tightening her hold on Deme-chan. But this was not like hitting Nobunaga from behind as she had done before. At that time, she had the element of surprise. Now, she was standing against an unstoppable flood of fury.

"Get out of the way!" Phinks screamed, barely restraining himself from ripping his opponent to shreds.

"I don't need you to protect me," Machi told the girl calmly, "I can take care of Phinks myself. I'll squash him like a bug."

"NANI??!!" the man roared, leaping forward past Shizuku's defense.

And so, despite Shizuku's protests, the battle began. 

Machi's instinct warned her abruptly where his attack would land and she blocked easily. She noted with satisfaction that his out-of-control temper was making him reckless. She would use this to her advantage. Dodging his destructive fist, she launched a swift kick into his stomach followed by a neatly delivered uppercut. He flew backward and landed roughly on his back. He leapt quickly back onto his feet but she had already rushed forward, elbowing him in the neck and knocking him down again. 

Hisoka walked in, his eyes taking in the ongoing scene of violence. "What's going on?" he inquired with interest.

"Machi and Phinks are fighting," Kurotopi informed him, "Because…" Here, the long-haired Nen user paused. The reason was rather obscure actually. 

"They just got on each other's nerves," Franklin said simply. 

"But what if the Dancho finds out? I thought fighting was forbidden."  

Shalnark answered sheepishly, "Well, he doesn't have to know. These kind of fights happen sometimes…" He turned to Shizuku, who had taken in his words with obvious alarm, "Don't worry. Nobody really gets hurt and it gets rid of the tension between members."

Hisoka chuckled to himself, "I see…"

Phinks blocked the onslaught of kicks that were sent his way. When they stopped coming, he quickly whirled around to face Machi who had stolen behind him. Too late. She delivered another stinging blow to his face and body-slammed him to the floor.

"Ahhhhh… But why aren't they using their Nen?"

"The purpose of the fight is to make the other feel pain. Not death," explained Franklin, "It's not a matter of life-and-death, but a test of endurance."

Hisoka couldn't decide whether he was disappointed or excited by the revelation. Nevertheless, the spectacle before him was entertaining. 

"Machi must be pretty angry," Shalnark commented, "She normally doesn't fight so intensely. Most of the time, she doesn't even get involved in these little spats."

"And who usually does?"

The blonde pondered this, tapping his chin in thought, "Well… Phinksa and Nobunaga, most of the time… Ubogin, too, before he died… Feitan and Franklin occasionally…"

"Not you?"

Shalnark shook his head. "If I were to fight, I'd probably lose," he confessed humbly, "And to be honest, I don't like pain."

Hisoka played carelessly with his cards, shuffling them from one hand to the other, "That's strange, coming from a member of the Spider…"

There was a reason why nobody enjoyed the joker's presence. When he showed any interest at all in the other Ryodan members, it was to provoke those around him. But Shalnark had long figured out the best strategy to deal with this. He faced the glow of contempt in the clown's eyes with an unperturbed, almost cheerful front, "We're not all like Feitan. I'm part of the Spider for different reasons."

But Hisoka had already switched his attention back to the fight. He rarely got to see Machi in action as the girl was prone to keep her abilities hidden. Each chance was then extremely providential and should not be taken for granted. Still shuffling, he leaned forward as an observant witness to the continuing conflict. 

In the meantime, Machi had sensed Hisoka's entrance, which only fueled her desire for combat. Grinding her teeth as she felt the clown's gaze on her back, she grabbed a hold of Phinks' hair and yanked with all her strength. The scream that followed made everyone wince. Machi smiled. 

"Nice…" Feitan commented again.

"What's nice, Feitan?" Kuroro's curious voice suddenly said. The leader of the Phantom Brigade stood, having just appeared and now patiently awaiting a response.

Feitan coughed lightly, delaying. His shrewd eyes fixed themselves on a random point on the ceiling and his hands went innocently behind his back, "…Nothing."

"Phinks, what happened to your eye? It was fine just a while ago."

The brawl had stopped instantly with the Dancho's arrival. Now, Phinks and Machi were nowhere near each other. Machi was sitting across the room, staring absently at her hands with her normal indifferent expression. The only hint to her participation were the tiny, almost invisible drops of sweat on her forehead.

Phinks, on the other hand, found himself the object of interrogation. The injured man stood there, breathing heavily and searching desperately for some quick explanation. He looked up, briefly met Kuroro's searing and knowing gaze, and then looked away again, "I… ran into a wall."

Nobunaga sniggered. Franklin and Shalnark exchanged a glance that spoke nothing positive about Phinks' intelligence. Even Shizuku looked amused at the lame excuse. 

_Let them laugh_, Phinks thought furiously, _Their butts aren't on the line_. 

"You ran into a wall?"  

He nodded, "I was trying to show Feitan a move."

Feitan snorted indignantly, "Like I would ever borrow one of your moves."

Phinks glowered at his partner before shifting his attention back to the Dancho, who was smiling at the pathetic explanation. 

"Hisoka? Do you know what happened?" Kuroro did not miss Machi's sudden flinch. 

The clown seemed preoccupied with his cards. He deliberately avoided answering the question for a while and then, "…I can tell you nothing that you couldn't deduce yourself, Dancho."

Kuroro considered this, tilting his head so that his black bangs covered his face, giving it a somewhat philosophical touch, "…That's true."

Phinks' shoulders slumped before tensing in apprehension. So he knew. What would he do now? Punish him as he did Machi? And with what? What had upset the girl in the first place? Not that he cared anymore. He rubbed his jaw petulantly. 

To his and everyone's surprise, however, the whole affair was dismissed easily. Almost too easily. 

"Don't let this happen again," the Dancho finally said, a cool warning. But that was all and soon, Kuroro had left, his last message a straightforward order: "Get to work."

Phinks blinked, temporarily speechless.

"That was odd," Shalnark said, looking just as perplexed, "The Dancho's acting unusual."

"No matter," announced Feitan, "Let's get going." He nodded at Phinks and the two vanished quickly, off to perform their duties.

No matter how strange the Dancho was behaving, an order was still an order. All contemplations were second to that. Shalnark shook his head to clear his suspicious thoughts and focused instead on the mission. He turned to Shizuku, "Shall we go?"

"I'm ready," she assented but not before Machi had called out in protest, "Hey!"

Shizuku shifted slightly, "Nani?"

"You're not going to partner me up with _him_, are you?" Just as Machi began to glower at the thought, Hisoka began to chuckle happily. He looked at the card currently in his hand. The Queen of Hearts. 

"Today's my lucky day," he murmured, pressing it fondly to his lips. 

"Ahh, gomen," Shalnark laughed nervously, brushing a hand through his golden hair, "but the pairings were already decided before you came out. Guess you're stuck. Gomen."

Noting that she was prepared to argue vehemently against this and not wishing to be stuck with the insane joker himself, Shalnark quickly made his escape. Grabbing Shizuku's hand, he dragged her away with a quick wave and hasty "Ja ne!"

"Just bear it," Franklin advised calmly as Machi's face soured unpleasantly, 'It'll be over before you know it." His scarred face was sympathetic.

"BUT—"

"Just bear it."

She sighed, suddenly worn out by everything. Looking at Hisoka's sunny grin only made her more tired and unhappy. "Hai, hai…" she muttered half-heartedly to the giant's counseling before joining her unwanted partner. There was nothing as to do except tolerate this stroke of bad luck. It would pass. The sooner, the better.  

"Shall we go?" he bowed, offering her his arm in the mocking imitation of a gentleman.

She ignored it, "Where?" 

"The Jacobs Mansion," Kurotopi informed them, "It's in the center of town. The big, black building. You can't miss it."  

"Jacobs...?" she repeated uncertainly. 

The name sounded familiar but in a negative way. She pushed away the dread that filled her when she tried to remember where she had previously heard the name before stopping altogether. It didn't matter.  

An order was an order.

"Let's go," she said curtly to Hisoka and in a split second, they were gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the next installment. Thank you so much for all the reviews! I know I haven't done much justice to the title of this fic yet but I'll try to get to it ASAP. ^^;; Anyways, I apologize in advance if certain things don't seem right to you but I just write the way I interpret the characters and essentially, for my own amusement. (Of course if you get amused, the more, the merrier, neh? ^_^) In the meantime, I just enjoy the fic as much as you can. 

~@@@~

It was two hours after the six had left that Kurotopi began to feel disturbed by something. 

She had spent the time peacefully, reading the newspaper in the tranquil silence by the light of Pakunoda's candles. Still, it was fairly dark inside the hideout and some may have questioned her ability to relax so entirely in this place of shadows. 

But she knew that there was no other place where she was as welcome. No other place she could possibly feel as at home. And the Genrei Ryodan, despite what they did, had done, and were still capable of—they were the closest thing she had to a family. 

Her violet eyes, shielded behind a thick veil of greenish hair, took in the surroundings with a faint sense of appreciation. 

Minutes passed and the appreciation faded to a sense of foreboding. Hidden lips frowned lightly.

Something was wrong. Something didn't quite fit the picture. 

She looked around the room and then focused on Nobunaga. 

That was it. That was what had been disturbing her. Nobunaga hadn't moved an inch during the past two hours. 

Her frown deepened. That wasn't like him. That wasn't like him at all. The man was restless by nature, impatient, often rash. Yet, here he was, leaning against the wall and still as could be.

"Nobunaga…" she compelled herself to speak. 

It was as if he hadn't heard her. He was so lost in thought that his eyes seemed to be seeing something else, something that wasn't there.

"Nobunaga…" she called out again. The others were looking at her in surprise. She knew how odd it must seem. Her actions went against her typical, silent persona. But Nobunaga's behavior was troubling in a way she could not explain, "Nobunaga…"

Finally, "NOBUNAGA!"

He jerked, as if coming out of a daze. "What?" he demanded, irritated by the interruption. He stared at Franklin for an explanation.

"Iie," his comrade spoke, "I didn't call you. It was Kurotopi."

"Kurotopi?" He turned to her, a bit startled.

She had never been good with confrontations, even casual ones like this. Only dire situations could push her to it. The glances of people, even her fellow teammates, made her nervous. That was one of the reasons she hid behind her long strands. Only one person had ever seen the face behind those locks of hair and Kuroro had told her she was beautiful. He was the only person she actually enjoyed conversing with. 

But he was gone and now, they were gazing her expectantly. She was unused to being the center of attention. Her own eyes fell to the floor and she clutched her hands nervously, habits long established by years at an orphanage. Humility was beaten into one there and she had never forgotten.

"Well?" 

But even if she liked keeping silent, she was not a lowly, humble person at heart. She had the scars to prove it. "What's going on with you?" she asked at last.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Nobunaga sighed, "I don't know how to explain it… But something about the Dancho's a little off today… He punished Machi for breaking the rules but let Phinks off for the same crime… He's never been so unfair."

"I've noticed it, too," she admitted, "But who are we to question him? He is the Dancho. He does what is best for the group and conflict between members is dangerous at a time like this. The chain-killer—"

"That, too!" Nobunaga broke in loudly with anger, "He wants the chain-killer to join, even after he killed Ubo!"

"So?" Kurotopi shrugged, not comprehending. She said dryly, "Hisoka killed someone before he joined, right? What's the difference?"

Nobunaga brushed away her comments with disgust, "You wouldn't understand. You haven't known Kuroro as long as I have. Ubo was there at the beginning. His death… and Pakunoda's…"

She blazed at that, standing up indignantly. What was he implying? That Ubo had been more valuable than the rest of them? But her voice remained crystal clear and calm, even polite, the result of many years of holding her tongue when to speak would've resulted in pain, "I may not have been here as long as Ubogin but the rules still stand regardless. Who are you to question what the Dancho wants, Nobunaga?"

From a corner of her mind, she noted that some of the candles had disappeared. The remained few could not fight against the darkness on their own.

"Dammit! I knew you wouldn't understand!" Nobunaga glared at her before walking away, "I need some fresh air."

"Don't wander too far," Franklin told him sternly.

"I won't." 

Franklin lifted an eyebrow, "He's just worried. Don't let him get to you."

Kurotopi sat back down, more frustrated than she was willing to show. "Baka," she muttered after Nobunaga had left, clenching her gloved fists repeatedly to try and relieve the tension. When that didn't work, she walked over to Pakunoda's grave and picked up a candle. Focusing slightly, a duplicate appeared. Again and again, until the light was burning brightly once more. Kneeling so that she could sense the radiating heat, Kurotopi let her uneasy spirit be comforted. 

The sight of light surrounding the grave was precious to her in a way she could not explain. 

~@@@~

The room they entered was sparkling clean, airy and comfortable. Before them sat a woman at a desk. Despite the wrinkles on her face that indicated old age, her gaze remained piercing and alert. Shalnark blanched a bit at the freakishly odd red color of her eyes, which reminded him instantly of the chain-killer. The audible gasp that escaped from Shizuku told him that she had noticed it as well.

The old woman raised her eyebrows critically. Her voice was thin but boasted of authority, "Is something the matter?"

Shizuku seemed to wilter under the harshly delivered question. "No," she said weakly, shrinking back a little. 

"Names?" 

"Shizuku," answered Shizuku.

"Daisuke," answered Shalnark. 

He could feel his partner's quick glance. But Shizuku had enough sense not to appear too astonished. Falsehoods were not uncommon for them, after all. Deception was a necessary part of the job. 

"What? No last names?"

They looked at each other, unsure as what to say. Before a tense silence could reign, Shalnark opened his mouth to invent some believable surname. Certainly, one more lie couldn't hurt. But he was cut off before he could say a word.

 "Alright, that's fine. They don't matter. We don't hire based on your identity," the woman continued. With a haughty demeanor, she told them, "What we want are workers of high maintenance and quality. The people you work for don't take on trash, you know. Even if you are from a background of trash, what is important is that you appear not to be."

Shizuku smiled wryly and even Shalnark coughed to hide a bitter laugh. 

And the woman pointed proudly at herself, "My name is Yukina Togashi." 

"Togashi-san…" Shizuku suddenly said curiously and casually, her innocence creeping subtly into her voice to throw off the older woman, "Do you happen to know of the Kurata Clan?"

Shalnark tensed, his fingers clenching tightly around the phone in his pocket. If she replied in the affirmative, then her death was sealed. But Togashi seemed more puzzled than anything by the abrupt inquiry.

"Kurata? What's that?'

"Iie. Nothing important," Shizuku replied sweetly and the matter was easily dismissed.

"I don't know about anything outside my line of work. And you shouldn't either, if you want to be hired," Togashi instructed firmly, "Now I need to ask a few more questions… Are you two married?" 

~@@@~

"Are you two married?" the question was delivered in a bored tone.

The interviewer looked as if he couldn't care less what their response was. He was a tired-looking, middle-aged man. The kind that appeared as if all the fun and spirit had been sucked out of him and his only purpose for life was to ask insignificant, easy questions that mattered to noone.

Except this question wasn't as easy to answer as one would think.

Machi and Hisoka looked at each other in surprise.

"No," she said.

"Yes," he said. 

Annoyed that his grey existence had been disturbed by a possible conflict, the interviewer looked up, "Well? So which one is it?"

"No," Machi said through gritted teeth. She knew Hisoka liked to lie and to irritate her with his advances but this was going a bit too far.

"Yes," Hisoka answered again, lightly. 

"If you two can't make up your mind, " the interviewer – Saki Yoshimoto – told them grumpily, "I'll just tell you that a married couple gets a special deal. When you work here, you have to live here as well. A married couple gets to stay for less so it's cheaper."

Cheaper? Machi's eyebrow twitched indecisively. The purple-haired beauty pursed her lips as she weighed saving money to being hitched to Hisoka. 

"How much does it cost to stay here?" she pressed.

"Ten billion a night."

"A night?!" she nearly shrieked before calming herself down and glaring at the man in dismay.

"That includes food and clothes and protection."

When the animosity did not fade, he said defensively, "I don't set the prices."

"I'd hang you anyway," she muttered under her breath, deeply unhappy.

"What was that?"

"She said, how much again to pay?" Hisoka covered smoothly.

"Ten billion. Per night."

"That's very expensive… Very expensive," the clown repeated for emphasis, slowly and thoughtfully. He shot a cunning smirk at Machi before asking, "And how much if we were married?"

"Five billion but the protection won't be provided."

Yoshimoto narrowed his eyes in confusion when Hisoka chuckled as if he were knew a secret that the rest of the world was unaware of. This guy was perhaps a bigger fool than he appeared, the weary man thought. Everybody knew that working for a Mafia boss was dangerous work, even if it paid extremely well. Unconsciously, he fingered the gun taped under his desk. 

"The protection won't be needed," the joker grinned as if that explained everything. 

"Well then, it's up to you," Yoshimoto told Hisoka.

"It's up to you," Hisoka told Machi, unexpectedly neutral. 

She gave him a cool, appraising study. 

But he was blank, even serious, and like so many times before, she could figure out nothing… 

Only Hisoka knew and he knew that when he appeared serious, it was because he was unsure of what the outcome would be. And as it turned out, though he had a good hunch, he could not predict Machi's response. But he was never completely sure about the girl, which made being with her all the more exciting. 

The silence was dull but also loud to Hisoka in a thousand ways. He gazed at Machi openly, his heart beating awkwardly as it always did when it encountered something darkly wonderful. He could detect nothing on her face for it was only a stone-like visage. Beautiful, but hard and cold at the same time. Her delicate features remained mysterious and the only sign that she was even thinking at all were the whirring emotions in her intelligent, golden eyes. And Hisoka was disappointed that he couldn't even identify those. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

To pass the time, he shuffled skillfully, relieving the tension he felt by the swift motions of his cards. As he waited for her response, he was slightly stunned to find his palms tainted with moisture.

"Fine," Machi snapped at last, "We're married then."

She glowered at Hisoka, swearing to herself that if he provoked her in any little way at the moment, she would change her mind immediately. "Don't you dare say a word," she hissed as a warning when Yoshimoto went to get the paperwork turned in. 

But he merely stared back. There was not even the slightest of smiles. Nothing but dead seriousness slowly being taken over by a shade of shock. 

"This is certainly unexpected," he murmured to himself. His voice sounded less clear than usual, as if he didn't whether or not to laugh or just muddle in confusion, "You agreed to marry …me?" 

He gazed at her in wonder but she ignored him and turned away with a disdainful twist of her head. The prospect of being his bride made slightly sick but that would only be temporary. Losing money was a more unforgivable crime, in her opinion. Sure, she could always earn it back but the amount of time that would take was immeasurable. Plus, she treasured every cent like a miser. 

"Ok," Yoshimoto returned, "Your rooms are on the seventieth floor. Job starts tomorrow morning. Report to the third floor at seven o' clock sharp or be fired." He handed them the keys, which Machi swiped in a huff before stalking out of the room. 

Hisoka watched her go before solemnly following her. To a normal observer, he would not be any different. His step was steady and strong; his face, unperturbed and relaxed. But a sharper look would show that the fascination had not faded and that he gave the impression of being mesmerized. 

Yoshimoto let out a sigh as the man disappeared and then sank into his chair with a shudder. There was something wrong with that clown. Despite his façade of friendliness, the aura around him was more threatening than anything else. He almost felt sorry for that poor girl, being married to a freakish clown like that. But the sympathy vanished as quickly as it came and was followed by an uneasy observance. They were an unlikely couple. Surely, the lady had deserved better with her striking looks and all. But they were ominously alike in some ways… He couldn't quite put his finger on it… How they matched… It was something unnerving, something beyond him…

Giving up, he shrugged. The last traces of concern were gone forever. 

It had been her choice anyway.

~@@@~

Oh, quick note. If it isn't clear, each pair (Machi/Hisoka, Feitan/Phinks, Shalnark/Shizuku) have gone undercover at different places. ^^;; And the whole Kuroro thing, I'll try to explain later. But don't expect too much from his perspective since I like to imagine him as a more closed, mysterious character. 


	6. Chapter 6

Machi had a horrible feeling when she reached her room. The minute her hand touched the doorknob to her and Hisoka's room, her instinct was set off like an alarm. Forewarned, she prepared herself for whatever disaster or enemy she would find and then inserted the key to open the room.

But what met her eyes was fairly untroubling. 

Her gaze quickly scanned the room. Aside from the fact that it was exceptionally well-adorned, the room did not appear as anything out of the ordinary. There was a queen-sized bed with abundant, richly ornamented pillows. To the left, there was a richly-crafted couch and coffee table set, oriented around a small television set. To the right of her, there was a door leading to an empty bathroom that appeared generously sized and clean. 

She studied the curtains at the back of the room that were drawn to reveal glass door overlooking an elegantly-styled balcony. Night was approaching and she could see the fading of the sunlight. If somebody wanted to attack them, darkness would be the perfect cover. But nobody seemed to be outside. In fact, there wasn't a foe in sight. Had her instinct been wrong? Dubiously, she checked and re-checked the room. When nothing threatening could be found, her doubts grew and she debated with herself whether to enter.

Somebody said from behind, "Is this our room?"

She turned her head to see Hisoka, who was peering over her shoulder. 

"…Not half-bad," he shrugged, dismissing the extravagance of the ornate room, "But why are you waiting outside for?"

"Something's wrong," she answered, returning her attention back to the scene before her, "but I don't know what it is."

Her seriousness rubbed off on him and his demeanor became more alert as he, too, studied the room, "Is it instinct?"

"Hai."

"I don't feel anything," he said after a moment, "I don't detect any Nen." 

"Me, neither," she said, perplexed, "But I feel like something's not right—"

To her surprise and immediate annoyance, he began to chuckle. Aggravated, she crossed her arms and stared at him frostily, "What's so funny?"

"I think I know what it is," he paused and then decided to add, "…Machi-chan."

"Well?" she demanded, ignoring the fond name but feeling all the more apprehensive. Hisoka never called her that unless he was about to spring something unpleasant on her. He withdrew his cards and shuffled them easily, delaying her apprehension. She waited with increasing dread.

"There's only one bed," he told her, flashing a card at the same. The Ace of Hearts.

"Nani?!" she exclaimed in utter horror. 

Recollecting herself, she said coolly, "That's not a problem. You can sleep on the couch or the floor."

"What if I don't want to?" he returned, displaying a stubbornness that made her want to wrench out his heart and step on it, "Gomen, but I'm not exactly the gentlemanly type. I won't fight a lady but that doesn't mean I won't argue with her over the bed."

He ignored her chilling glare, "Hate me all you want but I enjoy a good night's sleep as well as the next guy." He suggested innocently, "Why don't we just share?"

"No," she said dryly.

He threw her an inviting, sensual look, "But it's big enough—"

"No. And I'm not going to repeat myself gain"

"Then what do we do?"   

"Let's flip for it," she held up the infamous coin, "I call Heads."

Without waiting for his response, she flicked the coin into the air. Briefly, it seemed to hang there, spinning vigorously before being snatched abruptly by Machi's swift fingers and slammed onto her palm. Slowly, she removed her hand.

"Heads, it is," she announced with a contented smile. 

Hisoka pouted but said nothing.  

Machi walked briskly toward the bed and threw the clown a pillow. Night had fallen outside at last and she turned on the lamp on her bedstand. Then, pointedly ignoring him, she entered the bathroom to ready herself for sleep.

When she returned, her ponytail had been undone, letting her purple hair cascade down onto her back. She had also removed her kimono to reveal a simple, white tanktop. Hisoka relished the sight before him, admiring her sleek form and the hidden strength that it possessed. Her skin was unblemished, white as snow, and her beauty even more apparent despite the dim lighting. 

Propped on one elbow on the floor, he stared with open admiration as she climbed gracefully into bed, wishing to join her. Then again, he was lucky enough to be sharing a room with her. 

"Machi-chan…" he murmured under his breath, "You really are…"

"What did you say?" she said, golden eyes gleaming with warning.    

Hisoka laid his head back on his pillow with a smile that only made her more wary, "Nothing. Just… good night."

~@@@~ 

She played the piano beautifully.

Feitan watched his new charge quietly from a corner. It was almost astonishing how well she played. Her long, lithe fingers flew over the keys as if by magic, drawn by invisible strings. The resulting notes were sublime, delicate, yet powerful. 

He stood, leaning by the window. His arms were crossed and his form more languid than usual. But overall, he would've been infinitely bored were it not for the melody filling the room.

Outside, he could see Phinks grumbling bitterly as he scattered fertilizer carelessly over the carefully groomed lawn. They both had applied for jobs at the Toko Mansion. Funny how he managed to secure a position as top bodyguard while Phinks was hired as a lowly gardener. Indeed, quite funny actually. He sniggered to himself.

He was compelled to wave mockingly to his partner, who returned the wave with a more hostile gesture involving a single finger. 

Feitan snorted before turning away, not the least bit insulted. _Hmph. At least I don't have to work with horse crap._

His sharp eyes rested lazily on the young woman before him, who was still earnestly playing. She played the role of the niece of Mafia boss quite well, looking not the least bit average. Long, silver hair… The glinting strands captured the light rather than reflect it and she seemed aglow like a princess with a crown of silver… And eyes of turquoise, deep like the sea and just as peaceful… 

But it was her hands that attracted his attention the most. He could care less about her appearance; it was her skill that impressed him. One of the attributes he valued most was ability and Kita Toko had an exceptional amount. Her slender fingers were flawless in their art. Each key was pressed perfectly, each note held just quite right. 

Perhaps she felt his stare for she halted abruptly and tilted her head toward him. A gentle smile spread across her face as she questioned in a tinkling voice, "I can feel you watching me… Do you like it?" 

"It?" he repeated and uncomfortably, he noticed how his own voice sounded lifeless and drab compared to hers. 

"The song, of course."

Well, he hadn't been paying too much attention to the piano. Music generally didn't interest him but by the flurry of scales and beats, he judged the composition fairly complicated. 

"You play well," he said at last. Compliments rarely escaped his lips unless they were well-deserved. 

As if sensing the importance of his opinion, she bowed her head humbly, "Arigatou. I practice a lot. It is one of the only things I can do." 

He didn't know what to make of that so he remained silent.

"Koto-san, is it?" she asked curiously. "That's your name?"

"Hai." 

"Where do you come from, Koto-san? Or did you always live here in Yorkshin?"

"Here," he replied monotonously, wishing she would return to her music. Her questions were insipid and bothersome since he could tell her nothing but lies. Besides, talk held no significance for him. In battle, it was inefficient to bother with words when actions – such as killing one's opponent – obviously achieved the point quicker and with more emphasis.

"Koto-san…" she said after a while when she realized he would not continue the conversation unless forced, "Can I ask you something?"

"Fine."

For some reason, she was hesitant and the insecurity traveled clear across the room, "Can you tell me what you look like?"

Feitan was caught offguard, shooting the girl a glance that confirmed his aroused suspicions. Her blue-green eyes, though spectacular in color, lacked depth. He decided to do a quick test. With incredible speed, he rushed at her, only to stop a few centimeters before her face and leap back easily to his original position. It happened in the span of a second. 

Kita Toko never blinked but she wondered at the sudden breeze of wind.  

She coughed lightly, as if embarrassed, "There was a fire a couple of years ago and I got caught up in the flames."

Once again, he didn't know how to respond. He had always prided himself on being exceptionally observant but when he had entered the room to start his shift, she had already been playing. The grace of her technique and the flow of her music had deceived him. 

"Do you feel sorry for me?" 

"No," he answered honestly. The revelation was nothing to him. 

"Good. I don't want sympathy from anyone," she spoke rather firmly. 

"Well, I wouldn't give it to you even if you wanted me to." 

There was a cruel edge in that but it didn't seem to daunt her. Her expression grew more sardonic than sweet, but was strangely more attractive as well. If anything, her grin widened even more at his cold remark. "I'm glad. In that case, I think we'll get along just fine, Koto-san."   

"………"

A knock on the door interrupted the half-hearted conversation. A well-muscled, bald man entered, informing Feitan gruffly, "Your shift's up. I'll be taking over the watch now."

To Kita, he said, "It's time for your Braille lessons, Miss."

"Already?" Kita said, sounding disappointed. But she got up from her piano bench and smoothed her dress complacently. The man walked close to her and placed her hand on his arm, leading her out the room. 

Before she left, however, she called back, "Koto-san. The next time we meet, answer my question. Onegai. You sound like an interesting person and I'm afraid I haven't known very many interesting people in my life, except killers."

Stonily, Feitan watched them disappear, not knowing whether the whole scenario had been amusing or irrelevant.

Once they were gone, however, he allowed himself a smile that was more chilling than anything else, "Interesting, huh?"

~@@@~

_He saw himself through her eyes sometimes. That was how it worked, usually. The perspective was not your own but that of the one who owned the memories. And these were hers. Undoubtedly._

_Maybe that's why they were exceptionally clear. Everytime he decided to visit one, his senses were overwhelmed by the vividness. The smell, the feel, even occasionally the taste of what she had tasted. He never knew that she adored strawberries._

_This time, however, it was just what she had seen. And what she had seen was himself, lying and bleeding. Wounded, it seemed, beyond repair._

_It had been one of the Spider's first missions and the confidence from previous success, had caused him to make a serious mistake during battle. As a result, he had been wounded drastically. In his own memories, the pain had been searing, distorting his thoughts until he was ready to faint for relief. _

_But in hers, the pain was of a different nature. _

_Is he hurt? Will he die? He relived her thoughts, which were panicky, fearful. Ubo will be grief-strickken…_

_She forced herself to remain calm, to instruct in a patient, detached voice that would be soothing.  _

_"Nobunaga, don't move. Your arm… It's been cut off. But Machi can sew it back on if we find her in time. Everything will be fine if you just listen to what I say and don't close your eyes."_

_But she was afraid by his non-verbal response, an irrepressible moan of suffering._

_"NOBUNAGA! You bastard! Don't close your eyes!!" she had shrieked as her thoughts raced wildly. PLEASE DON'T DIE ON ME… _

_At the time, he had been annoyed her selfishness, her fear. Members of the Spiders shouldn't fear Death, he had accused her. "Why can you just let me die in peace, woman?!" he had yelled back when she had slapped him in her efforts to keep him awake. _

_But in the end, she had saved him. _

_He had never thanked her for that. Never bothered because his memory of her fear at the time had disgusted him. It had tainted his opinion. But now, as he relived her memories, as he looked beyond his own, he saw the undeniable truth. Felt it. And it was more painful than he could've imagined. _

_Even now, her thoughts at the time made him sorrowful for the friend he had lost. Made the tears fall when noone else was there to witness them. _

_Please don't die, Nobunaga… Stay alive…The Spider needs you…I don't want you to die… _

_She had been afraid. Not for herself, not for her life, but for him and his. Because his life had been meaningful to her, meaningful even if it was just an insignificant life. At that time, she had seen him not as just a broken limb to be replaced but one to heal. Only two people had ever cared selflessly about his existence that way and now, they were both dead. _

_…It WASN'T fair!! Why did he have to lose such rare people? Was this the curse of being born on Shooting Star Street? To find and lose family continually?_

The tears stopped at last. He recovered himself, putting on the unfeeling mask of the samurai. Loss could not touch him there, only vengeance if only because it was less painful.

"Ubogin, Pakunoda," he said quietly to himself, gripping the handle of his sword so tightly that his knuckles grew white, "The chain-killer will die. I promise you."

~@@@~

Ok, ok, I guess I'm guilty of something that is not usually well-received by people – OC. Nevertheless, I hope you will bear with him. Kita's purpose is not for the sake of making something up but of promoting character development. Hopefully she'll fulfill this purpose well enough to avoid being disliked. ^^;;


	7. Chapter 7

Ahhh, should add some plot soon. Will bring Kuroro back and develop more characters but love to explore personalities and romance. So now onto the Hisoka/Machi fluff. ^_^

~@@@~

"So should I call you Daisuke from now on?" Shizuku questioned before climbing into the bed. 

"Just in front of the other servants," he replied, "But you can still call me Shalnark when we're alone."

"Ok then."

He laid on the cushioned couch. It was too short and as proof, his feet were hanging over the side. Nevertheless, though he had lied easily that he and Shizuku were engaged, it felt improper to share a bed with her. They were partners in death, not love. And the only reason to pretend otherwise laid in being financially conservative. 

"Ten billion a night…" Shalnark couldn't help but grumble bitterly. It was outrageous! He had half a mind to raid the place just to get back at the greedy managers who ran it. Of course he was guilty of the same crime. Stripping people out of their cash was a cinch with the right technology and being apart of the Ryodan had made it even easier. 

But that was beside the point. It was always different when you're the one being cheated.

He was still feeling sulky when Shizuku's clear, sweet voice cut through the air, "Neh, Shalnark?"

"Hmmm?" he turned to see the young girl staring at him. She wore a thin-strapped, light pink nightgown that gave her the impression of being younger than she looked. The absence of her glasses caused her to squint a bit and she looked adorably curious. 

Shalnark smiled to himself. She reminded him of a child. 

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," he answered though beginning to become slightly drowsy. He yawned and stretched, "Just one, though, alright? I'm feeling sleepy." 

"Ok," she agreed readily, "Just one." 

He yawned again, hoping this wouldn't take long. Shizuku reached to turn out the light on her bedstand, asking simultaneously, "Pakunoda's memories… What did she leave you?"

At that exact moment, there was a light click and a thick darkness dominated the room. Shalnark blinked, no longer feeling tired.  Looking across the room, he tried to see Shizuku but all that he could see was a brief shaft of moonlight shining down onto the coffee table next to him. 

"Shalnark?"

"I heard you. It's just…" he sighed heavily, "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes." Her voice was more firm and sure than he had ever heard sound it before, "She didn't leave me any memories. I want to know what you know. At the least, I want something to remember her by."  

"Well," he began slowly, glad for the darkness for it hid the emotion on his face, "Sometimes I see through her eyes…"

~@@@~

"You smell." That was the first thing Feitan said when he entered the room. 

"I know that."

"You smell really—"

"I KNOW that already!!" Phinks yelled, glaring at his partner and clenching his fist, "Another word out and I'LL--!!"

Feitan crossed his arms placidly and decided to keep quiet. The truth was, he hadn't intended to rile up Phinks with his statements. But the stench was so bad that he now wore his skull bandana just to lessen its severity. Yet, some of the nauseating fumes still permeated the thick cloth. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and wished that the man before him would take a bath.

"It's not like I haven't tried washing it away," Phinks said mournfully, as if sensing his thoughts, "I've taken three showers before you came back."

As evidence, water dripped from his hair as the Spider gazed unhappily at his skin, "It just won't come off. The fertilizer they use here is modified with powerful Nen."

"What a waste," was Feitan's only comment. 

"Huh, I agree. If I ever find the bastard who came up with it, I'll behead him," Phinks muttered darkly and then, as if he could hardly bear to keep it in anymore, "God, I HATE my job!!"  
  


"…It's not too bad. A bit boring, perhaps, but…" Strangely, his mind recalled the image of Kita Toko, smiling at him as she bid him a cordial farewell. 

"But?" Phinks raised his eyebrows, puzzled. He had expected Feitan to agree with him completely but the black-haired man seemed a bit odd. Just the tiniest bit out of focus. 

And then, as if abruptly realizing that he had left his sentence hanging, Feitan finished, "Iie. It's nothing. But I don't think the job is too tough." 

"You don't understand!" he said disgustedly, "All I do is pour this special fertilizer over the flowers… and the idiots here have humongous gardens that go on for MILES…"

Feitan let him complain and for the next couple of minutes, the bitter man raved about the injustice and disgrace of being a gardener, the revenge he would wreak on his managers once the mission was over, how his view on flowers as harmless things was forever changed… 

"It'll be over once the chain-killer is dead," he said. It was a subtle form of comfort. 

Phinks stopped his ranting to nod with a grudging sigh, "You're right. If it's for the Genei Ryodan, I can suffer a little longer… In any case," he let out a yawn, "the sooner I sleep, the quicker I can ignore the smell. But first, another bath."

With that, he dashed back into the bathroom. A second later, the sound of splashing water could be heard. 

There room was medium-sized, consisting of two beds and a simple-looking bath and shower. There was also a dresser, complete with mirror. Changing out of the formal, navy blue suit he had been required to wear into a pair of plain, ebony-colored pajamas, he caught sight of himself in the glass and halted.

_Answer my question the next time we meet. Onegai._

Everything about him was black. From the strands of his carelessly groomed hair to the dark fabric of the bandanna  around his mouth to the sour frown that laid hidden beneath – there was no color. 

He was intimidating as well. He noted subconsciously how there was something about his appearance that inspired fear, an aura of hate and cruelty. Had he been anyone else, he would've been afraid of himself. But he met the eyes of his reflection evenly. They were black and endless to him, so deep that no light could ever reach the bottom. 

The person that stared back at him had no heart. 

When he could stand it no longer, Feitan slid under the covers of his bed and turned off the night with a mechanical click, wondering dimly when had it gotten so cold. 

~@@@~ 

_She was reliving a memory. In the back of her mind, she suspected she was dreaming for the people she saw were years younger than she knew them to be. Nobunaga, Franklin, Feitan… all had faces unmarred, fresh, and bewildered. They even looked a tad awed. All because of the young boy before them, who spoke softly and gently, but coldly and powerfully as well. _

_"It does not matter whether if the head or limbs are lost. What should live is the Spider."_

_She took in his words with a kind of thrilling chill. She felt as if she could shiver at that moment, even if the sun was hot and bright overhead. But the feeling was not altogether unwelcome. It was if she had just had water dashed upon her, as if she had suddenly woken up from deceiving sleep to discover her past was but a dream. Whatever had happened before no longer mattered. _

_…He was right. Everything he said. She could feel it penetrate into the raw material of her soul. He WAS right._

_ Struggling to keep from trembling, she lifted her head to gaze upon the boy – no, the man – that had given her a new purpose. It was time to cast off an old identity and take on something new. He met her eyes and held them, making her experience adoration and fear at the same time. _

_And then, after an eternity had passed, they smiled together for they both knew he had won._

Machi awoke with a gasp, breathing heavily. It was as if something had clenched upon her throat, cutting off her air. As if something had crushed her heart, cutting off her blood. The dawn had not yet come. She could barely see anything and that only added to her sudden fear. Distraught, she rolled blindly towards the other side of the bed to hit something hard. Somebody clicked on the light.

The sight that met her eyes was pale flesh, well-muscled and sleek. She blinked, confused. Was she still dreaming? Without thinking, she tentatively placed a hand on the bare chest before her to check if it was real. 

A hand larger and stronger than her own gently grasped hers. She tried to pull away but it held, tenderly but firmly, before pulling her into an embrace. 

Startled, she raised her head to stare into Hisoka's face. She had half a mind to curse at him but his unusual graveness stopped her. There was no smirk, no grin of mocking satisfaction, as he held her against him, giving her the most intimacy with another that she had experienced in years.

"Am I still dreaming?" she said at last, overwhelmed by uncertainty. 

"Does it feel like you're still dreaming?" 

She closed her eyes and wondered at the pleasant warmth that emanated from his body. Most of all, she wondered why she felt comforted by it. 

"What time is it?"

"Just a little after midnight."

"You were supposed to sleep on the floor," she told him, opening her eyes. But there was no force in her voice, "That was the deal."

"…I lied," and the hint of a smile made itself known before vanishing, "Were you having a bad dream?"

"No," she lied instantly, "I was…" But here, she faltered. Her voice, which had always been so calm and controlled, wavered for the briefest instant, "I was…"

He waited patiently, brushing aside the strands of wild hair that had fallen into disarray. His touch was soft, she noted, and she did not pull away when his fingers came to rest lightly on her cheek.   
  


"I was not myself," she finally whispered in tones of quiet shock. She sounded incredulous and unnatural even to her own ears and her thoughts and emotions only became more jumbled when she tried to sort them out. Her lips stopped moving and giving up, she let her words and emotions die away. 

Hisoka said nothing.

In the silence, he reached over to the bed stand to click off the light and darkness overcame them again.

To her disgust, she found herself shaking in his arms from something she could not explain. But he only pulled her closer, withholding questions and offering nothing but the soothing heat of another human being. 

Strangely and to her secret relief, it was all that she needed.

Outside, it began to rain. Inside, she found that she could not escape the presence holding her nor did she really want to. He clung to her, not tightly but not lightly either. In silent acknowledgement of her temporary acceptance, throughout the passing hours, she refrained from protest or complaint and did not bother to push him away. And in the dark shadows and amidst the sad music of the falling drops, they stayed that way until dawn. 

~@@@~

…So whaddya think? Good, bad? Too soft? Suggestions, comments, highly appreciated. 


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks Shaoli, purplehotagi, and everyone else! I really appreciate the support. Now to answer some questions:

Yes, I do have mysterious innuendo syndrome. It's a bit annoying but it usually clears up by the end. And I know everyone is wondering about Kuroro… *runs off to come up with a plausible explanation*

…Hmm, to answer Shaoli's question, how is marriage linked to protection? Well… erm… *thinks hard* If people share a room, I would say they take up less space so that would be cheaper. And they're easier to monitor and protect. (Oh, and this doesn't apply to Feitan and Phinks, who work at a different Mafia place.) But of course there's another reason. What if it's not related to protection at all?? *runs away before is scolded for the mysterious innuendo, which has –gasp- shown itself yet again *

^_^

~@@@~

Franklin did not go to sleep. 

He had become just recently an insomniac with incredible endurance. He had taken a brief, ten-minute nap three days ago but had warded off sleep since then like a plague. He was weary, bothered, and unable to complain because the habit of distancing himself from his troubles was well-established. 

Kurotopi dozed in the corner and Boreneorolf sat, legs and arms crossed and head bent to chest. As he kept guard over his slumbering teammates, Franklin wished that he, too, could experience the tranquility of nothingness. But he knew better than to close his eyes for what laid in the darkness was not rest but pain. 

It was laughable. They were not nightmares, they were not even dreams. And yet, he was as afraid as infant fearing the dark. 

"Franklin?" 

He raised his head to stare at Nobunaga, who stood leaning against the wall across the room. Between them, Pakunoda's grave stood as a shrine of candles that glowed softly. 

"Can't sleep either, eh?" the samurai said.

"No." And the word tasted like defeat but he would not yield. 

"Is it because of her?"

"Her?" Franklin repeated, confused. 

"Her," and he jerked his head in the direction of the lit monument.  

…So he knew. Franklin suddenly realized that Nobunaga was in the same situation. Did he fear it as well? 

"Does it frighten you?" the giant spoke carefully, trying to lessen the implications of his words with a nonchalant tone. Talking with Nobunaga was like being trapped in a cage with a panther. The samurai was easily angered and as weariness was gradually working its way into his bones and dulling his senses, Franklin found himself in no mood to deal with Nobunaga's temper. Best to tread lightly and avoid offense as Nobunaga was prone to retaliation with his blade rather than his tongue.  

"Frightened?" the other man scoffed, "They're nothing to be frightened of." 

The giant raised his eyebrows. Was he lying? Nobunaga seemed composed but it was apparent that he was clearly avoiding his gaze. And the fact that he, too, could not sleep was more than enough evidence. 

He remembered the first time he had experienced it. The horrible, aching pain that was more internal than external when she discovered what it meant to fight and kill. The buried sympathy for the victims that made themselves known only when she had been alone. He had awoken with a horrified cry as emotions that had been buried suddenly revived themselves in a brilliant resurrection.  

"They're just memories, Franklin."

"I know that." But…

"Then go to sleep. You won't be ready for battle if you haven't gotten any rest."

Part of Franklin wanted to argue. They _weren't_ just memories. They were too real, too vivid. He didn't want to feel the way they made him feel. But his body complained of increasing fatigue. And if Nobunaga was right, if the chain-killer took this opportunity to surprise _them_ rather than go after the other six, he would be in no shape to withstand the attack. There would be no chance for him, especially if Kurapica could take down the Dancho by himself. 

"Go to sleep, Franklin."

Better safe than sorry. Better to die a death a million times in sleep than one in real life…

"Hai," he finally said, allowing his eyelids to shut, "Just for a few minutes…"

The sound of his own breathing lulled him away… He could hear all his other senses dulling just slightly, but it was enough to send him miles and miles away… There was nothing… Not even his own thoughts… Quiet peace more beautiful than anything the living world had to offer… 

For a moment, he slept in ecstasy, content to rest in himself. 

It lasted only briefly until he was in too deep to wake up and then, she was there and he was gone.

"I'm a sinful woman…" the words escaped her lips like a flood. There was no anguish, no regret, but rather a simple statement of facts. More often than not, she felt like she was dying these days. Her heart was light from emptiness and there was nothing more she wanted than to feel. Happiness was too much to ask. But pain, sorrow, regret --  anything to tell her that she was still human. That's why she had come. "But the sin on me does not weigh me down… Rather, it lifts me up and down at the same time… Because I feel like I'm drifting my way down to hell…" 

"Don't say such things, child—"  
  
  
  


_"I'm not a child," she had said, "I've never been one."_

_"In the eyes of God, all are His children."_

_"I know no God," and the only one she worshipped bore an upside cross on his forehead. _

_There was a shocked silence and then, with annoyance, "Then why did you come here?"_

 "They're looking for me… I need a place to hide for a few days before I can strike back…"  

_And the priest had taken a deep, shuddering breath and had said with an audible tremble, "Who are you?"_

_  
"Pakunoda," and her hand shot through the wooden wall separating them. It was over in seconds. Before he even had time to scream, she had crushed his throat and choked him. His eyeballs rolled heavenward in death and the sparkle of life in his eyes vanished abruptly. _

_She let the corpse slump down and the eyelids fluttered downward, answering the call of gravity. The terror on his face slowly melted away into serenity as death wiped his expression clean. She was envious but the jealousy disappeared when she touched his cheek. _

_A memory of a family. A love that had promised to wait until he returned. The joy he received from serving the One above all. _

_'I will live to the purity of my soul,' he had declared with the fire of idealism burning in his heart, 'and I will love all equally, showing kindness to my enemies and my friends… I will bear none ill-feeling…'  _

_She withdrew her fingers from his cold skin._

_"I am sorry," she whispered and she wondered, would he forgive her when he reached Heaven or would he miss the one he left?_

_He had been so young, so pure, so happy… She could not bring herself to hate him for what he had… But… for what he had lost… she could not help…_

_ It took her a while to realize that she was weeping._

Franklin awoke with a gasp, sweating profusely. He looked at Nobunaga accusingly before settling to wait for the sun. Hours would pass until it rose but they did not speak again for the rest of the night. 

~@@@~

He found his target at the café, sipping a mug of black coffee and reading the Yorkshin Times. As he approached, the paper was put down and he was met with a cordial, if formal smile, "Ohayou. You're five minutes late."

"Gomen. But it was hard leaving the room without being noticed."

"You share a room? I'm surprised. Didn't think she'd put up with it."

Hisoka smiled to himself. Neither had he, in fact. Life was full of surprises.

"I'd be careful if I were you, who knows what she'd do to you in your sleep," came the warning.   
  
  
  


"Oh really, I'm rather looking forward to it," was the wicked response. 

Kuroro took a sip of his coffee, studying his companion with a thoughtful gaze. The joker was dressed different from usual, clad in a neat, uniform suit of black. With his chin tilted at an angle and red hair that was slicked and elegant, he resembled a wealthy playboy. Indeed, he was receiving more than his fair share of naughty winks from the waitresses. But more than that, he looked awfully pleased with himself. 

Odd, thought the leader of the Spider. 

But Hisoka's next words pushed his curiosity away and focused him back onto the matter at hand. 

"Alright," said the clown, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the table and his face in his hands. He wore an hungry, excited look, "Let's talk about business."

~@@@~

Hisoka was gone. She knew it instinctively before she even opened her eyes. Outside, the sunlight was glaringly bright. She stared for a moment, trying to avoid last night's memories. Unsuccessful, she didn't know whether to be grateful or furious with her comrade for breaking his promise.

"Hisoka no baka," she said aloud but the insult was half-hearted.

Finally, glancing at the clock and remembering that work began only in a few minutes, she pushed her conflicted emotions aside and headed toward the closet. The outfit that laid inside made her grimace. Apparently maid attire, it was plain black and white with a little lacey hat to match. She snorted to herself in disgust and tossed the offending headgear aside. 

A knock came at the door after she finished dressing. And then another. Machi ignored both – she was in no hurry to begin -- and proceeded to check herself in the mirror. Scowling openly at the petite and subdued figure before her, she could not help but feel as if she were being demeaned. 

"There's no need to hide. Just come out," she said sharply, turning abruptly to the door that had been creaking open ever so slightly since the first knock. 

A little boy of tousled brown hair peeked out sheepishly, "Gomen, but you didn't answer and I don't want you to be late on--" His statement was cut short by an irrepressible comment of awe, "Oh, you're so pretty."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Ryo, the messenger," he said proudly.

"You look too young to work for a Mafia boss," she said coolly.

"I'm seven!" he returned somewhat defiantly, but the blaze died as he asked, "So what's your name?"

He hadn't given a last name and she wouldn't either, "Himiko. I'm the new seamstress."

"Hai!" he said, nodding in acknowledgement, "I'm supposed to show you to your workroom. This way, Himiko-san!" 

The little boy ran out of the room and she quickened her pace to follow. After a few corners, they came to an elevator. "Your workroom's on the eightieth floor," Ryo informed her with a know-it-all-air that was both irritating and unexpected coming from someone so young, "So go up and when you get off, it should be the first door to the right."

Machi nodded complacently. He was just a kid. The less she had to deal with him, the better. The elevator door opened and she stepped in, already bored before the job had even begun. If she was lucky, she would be done in a few hours. 

"Ja!" 

She turned just in time to see Ryo's cheerful face before the doors closed. He was waving with a warm, sincere smile, "And good luck!"

~@@@~

"Ohayou," she said upon greeting him. She was looking exceptionally pretty, dressed in a sunny yellow dress. Gold and silver in one. Such a contrast to the darkness that surrounded him but he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. He offered her an arm, which she grabbed lightly.

"I'm to be your guard for the whole day today. Your piano lessons will be first, followed by an afternoon tea, and then a trip to the dressmaker," he said mechanically.

"The dressmaker?" her face had lost some of its cheerfulness at that.

"Hai, let's go."

The room they entered was the same as yesterday. Though fancily decorated and full of interesting displays of ornamentation, Feitan sighed unhappily to himself. He was certain he would be spending many a hour in here. 

He led her to the grand piano positioned in the center and she sat, automatically straightening herself and placing her fingers affectionately on the keys. "Here I go," Kita said and she was off, the air filling with angelic sound.

The hours passed. There being nothing better to do, Feitan watched her passively. He was surprised by her choice in music. It was sad, whimsical. Fast and panicked. Perhaps a reflection of her feelings?, he wondered and it did not seem likely for the lovely countenance grew ever the more troubled. Beauty did not appeal to him, but pain could and it was written all over her face. Lines of doubt, fear, and resentment – not in her eyes but each crisscrossing like silk strings over the contours of her face. 

Like glass, he mused, his interest aroused, Ready to break…

There was a sudden crash of cacophonic chords as her hands suddenly slammed down. Chest heaving with some strange emotion, she bent her head and clutched onto the folds of her dress  tightly. Her lips pressed together as she strained for some semblance of tranquil control. But the reality was she looked more distraught than ever. 

She said, wearing a thin mask of happiness that he saw through all too easily, "I think I'm finished."

"Tea's next."

She nodded, "Shall we go?"

The place of tea was in the garden. By the time they had reached the little patio, she had regained some of her characteristic brightness. She chatted enthusiastically throughout the meal as he nibbled politely on a cookie, drowning her out. It wasn't until she issued an order disguised as a request that he brought himself back to attention.

"Would you mind fetching me a rose? Red, please."

He had no choice to obey. Shrugging at her absurd fancies, he plucked at a nearby bush and presented her with a rose whose hue matched that of a dark and red sunset.  

"Ahhh, do you like flowers? I do," she told him, accepting it with glee, "They're so easy to break…"

She brought it daintily to her nose and inhaled, fingering the petals as she sank into a thoughtful mood. He sensed a shift within her as if something had crumbled away, as if the superficial skin was peeling to reveal a deeper core. She offered him the flower, "Would you like to try?"

"No."

"Too bad. It smells really nice."

"You're killing it," he stated, gazing as her slender fingers pulled off each petal with a surprising viciousness.

"Well, I had a feeling it would be wasted on you," she replied. A naughty smile appeared, "But at least this way it's not completely wasted…" 

And she stood up and leaned toward him, sprinkling the crushed remnants over him with surprising accuracy. For a moment, he just stared, not comprehending as the petals of red and scarlet fell over him like a baptism of blood.  

He didn't move. It was raining petals. Her fragrance was just as sweet and her smile, frightening and bewitching. What was this girl? Angel, demon, or a mixture of both? 

"You're a killer, aren't you?" she said quietly, sitting back down. She sipped her tea and her eyes, blind as they were, were acutely sharp and cunning. 

"Yes." He was unsure as to what the smirk she wore meant.

"You sound so surprised," she laughed, as if sensing his silent shock at her transformation. She maintained the innocence but for the first time, he saw that it was tainted, "I am the niece of a Mafia lord. You're not the first killer I've met…" Her voice grew distant, "Not the first at all…" 

"You could say I've had a lot of experience dealing with people like you, Koto-san," she grinned, adding, "And I know that's not your real name. They never tell me their real names until I force them."

"What do you want?" He waited, amused by her girlish pride yet apprehensive at the same time.  

"I want a lot of things but right now, just a friend," she said, eyes glittering.

He snorted in disbelief, "That's all? How pathetic."

She didn't seemed bothered by his insult, "So sue me. I know what I want."

"And what do you want from me then? To be your friend?" he sneered. This girl was insane if she thought that would ever happen. He had no friends outside the Spider and even those within were not truly friends but comrades in death. 

"Perhaps. Eventually, we may become friends. Who knows, neh?" she said, stunning him with a sincere smile, "But to be friends, we have to know each other first, right? So for starters, what's your real name?"

When it was all done and he could not take it back no matter how much he wanted to, he still could never figure out why he had said it then. Maybe he had been under a spell at the time. It was foolish to have said anything at all. But it was that entreating expression she had worn, the way the cynicism had melted away to be replaced with honest hope. She wanted to get to know him. Truly. 

"Feitan," he said, regretting the moment his name left his lips. He would regret it even more in the future.

But Kita lit up at his admission and reaching over, she took his hand and shook it gently. 

"Nice to meet you, Feitan-san," she said softly.

~@@@~

… Well, I think I'm focusing a lot on the characters without much action. But in my own defense – pitiful as it may sound – this fic is supposed to cover two weeks since that's how long the six people are gonna be working at their location. And plus, there's a whole bunch of other people like Franklin… Kurotopi… Boreonolf (Ahh, don't know if I wanna make him talk; it just seems so _wrong _for some reason ^_^)…Nobunaga… to include… so please bear with me. If it gets TOO boring, just lemme know. In any case, just to warn ya, this fic should focus on Machi more than the others… Or at least, that was my initial plan. ^^;;

….Oh, and please leave a comment, suggestion! Ask questions, they make me think! I wouldn't mind ideas either since my brain is rather limited. Any help is appreciated. ^^;; 


	9. Chapter 9

Machi could not believe her eyes. Was this some joke? Her instinct hadn't warned her about this! Life was too cruel. Anyone would be better than him. Anyone. Even Hisoka. She stood, immobile, hand still on the doorknob. Her heart had gone stark still. 

His handsome face gazed back at her, wondering but amused. 

"I didn't think I would see you again after the bookstore."

He spoke first, smooth, languid, effectively hiding his emotion with a friendly front. 

She could not do the same. Being around him had always made her honest, brutally so. She asked coldly, "Is there a reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"

"Why yes, there is. I'm your employer though I can't imagine why _you_ would want to work for _me_." 

So that was why she had felt the name Jacobs to be familiar. She had pushed her last encounter with him to the back of her mind when instead, she should've remembered that nothing good could ever come out of seeing him again.  

"So your last name's Jacobs now?" 

"Well, yes. In his will, the previous owner allowed me to change the name of this company once he died," he said it lightly, gazing at her intently, "And you know what? It's nice to have a surname for once though I doubt you would know."

Truth was a bitter pill. She swallowed back harsh insults, biting her tongue so that it drew blood. Had she been here for the money, she would've slit his throat without hesitation. But this was a mission. She masked her sour feelings and sudden fury but not well enough for an edge of venom slipped through as she said, "What can I do for you?"

"You're the new seamstress?"

She gave a curt nod, withdrew a needle, and materialized the Nen strings. 

"I need a suit. A nice one. For a wedding." 

She stared back. No longer hostile but oddly blank. The implications of his words hit harder than she dared show. Machi bent her head, trying to figure out what to do next. He was getting married? Once again, it felt as if her heart had stopped and her whole body had gone cold. 

Ridiculous. She shouldn't care. She had no right to care. 

But she couldn't help but remember a time long ago. When such a thing would have completely crushed her. When she had come to live by his smile, live for his warmth. His promises had been everything to her, the only light in a dark, dark world... The only treasures in a land of trash.

_Let's run away together, Beautiful. Let's fly away and never come back._

He handed her an object, "A tape ruler. To take my measurements before you start."

She took it and moved closer, snatching a glance at him before beginning to work. 

…Were her memories deceiving her or had he always been this attractive? He was fair-haired and blue-eyed. A striking chin and perfect skin. Before, he had never cared about his appearance. Her best recollections of him were of a boy, dirt-stained clothes, smudges on his cheek, and laughing like a child as he surprised her from behind. 

But every aspect was rich elegance now; a Rolex on his wrist, classy sunglasses in his shirt pocket, and Italian shoes on his feet. Once, he smelled like clay and bricks, sweat and labor. Now, he was covered in a rich scent of expensive cologne.

She was satisfied that he was this way now. Happy, even. This way, she wouldn't be bothered by him or his affairs. He was too different to be ever seen in the same way. 

She finished measuring his arms and crouched to measure the lower half of his body. Something descended on her as she was measuring the width of his ankles. Mussing her hair. She stiffened as fingers fell fondly to her cheek, stroking it before lifting up her chin. 

"What do you think you're doing?" she said sternly, jerking back. Her own hand reached to touch her cheek as if it had been burned. She scowled, "Don't touch me."

"You look troubled, Beautiful. Want to talk about it?"

"It doesn't concern you." Was her mask falling? She checked it hastily, making herself as hard as possible, distancing herself from the emotions she refused to feel.

"Doesn't it? I'm not the one getting married, by the way," he told her with a chuckle, kneeling down until they were face to face. He was smiling like they were good friends, "So don't be upset."

"I'm fine," she said shortly, turning away, "And don't touch me again or I'll break your fingers."

"Hai, hai… Aren't you going to measure my waist?"

They both stood up. Machi instructed, "Lift your arms."

He obeyed and with obvious sulkiness and not-so-obvious nervousness, she reached around him in the superficial imitation of a hug. His arms remained high in the air but the intimacy had an effect on them both, even if they strove to hide it. 

"You're as beautiful as always," he whispered as she pulled away, "And just as cold, too…"

She ignored him, "I think I've gotten all I need."

"Very good… The cloth will be sent to your room."

"Is that all then?"

"Yes." He paused, changing his mind, "No. I want to ask a question. What are you doing here?"

She began to leave. He grabbed her arm with a serious expression, "I know you're not here because you want to be. Who sent you? Why?"

"Don't touch me!" she snarled, pulling away with startling force. 

She was stronger than him so he let her go.  

"I know there's a reason behind you being here because I never expected you would come back," he called after her but she had already gone. There was a hard, ugly look in his blue eyes as he finished quietly to himself, "Never… not after what we did to each other."

~@@@~

Ryo was waiting for her when she stepped off the elevator. There was a sunflower in his hand but the minute he caught sight of Machi's face, he shoved it hastily into his backpocket. Unfortunately, the tops of the bright yellow petals were still visible. 

"For me?" Machi asked, leaning her head to the side as if he wasn't worth the scum on her shoes.

"No," he lied. He was a kid, but he wasn't stupid. He knew by the disdainful gleam in her eyes that his gift was unwanted.

She snorted condescendingly and then began to walk toward her room. 

Ryo followed as timidly as he could, lamenting his own cowardice. Perhaps he should have just given her the flower anyway. Maybe it would've cheered her up. The new seamstress looked awfully upset. 

There was a tight, fierce look on her face. As if she had just gone through some rigorous test and had failed horribly. After studying her, he finally concluded that it was too late for a present. It might anger her. From behind, he glanced at her wistfully. She was so pretty. Prettier than any lady he had ever seen. But scary at the same time as well. Childishly, he wished he could make her smile.

Silent as a mouse, Ryo walked behind her until she reached her door at which point she whirled on him in a cold fury, "What do you want, kid?"

"Eep!" he squeaked in alarm when she grabbed the front of his shirt angrily. Machi wondered at his expression. There was surprise, to be sure, but hardly any terror. Of course, he didn't know who he was dealing with. He didn't know that she could snap his neck in a second. 

Hn, If the brat knew who I really was, he wouldn't be so eager to be friends… 

But this assumption was wrong. Had Ryo known her true identity, he would've behaved in the same exact friendly, fearless manner. Mostly because he was not prone to fear as most boys his age were. He had worked for the Mafia for over two years now and had learned some valuable lessons. To show fear almost always guaranteed death whereas a smile suggested mercy. He couldn't afford the luxury of a tremble, a shiver, or a howl. Instead, he had trained himself to smile on reflex. 

"Don't mock me, boy. I'm not in the mood."

"No, no! I'm not mocking you!" He waved his arms in protest.

She let him go, shoving him back roughly, "Then what do you want?"

He coughed, blushing softly and avoiding her sharp gaze, "Well, it's lunchtime…so I was wondering… would you like to have lunch with me?"

She looked at him in mild confusion.

"My treat," he added. And then, a pleading, "…Please?"

Machi rolled the idea over in her mind. A part of her wanted to flatly refuse. But, the truth of the matter was, she could use a free meal. And more importantly, Ryo could provide a free distraction. Spending time by herself alone with her thoughts was not pleasant. After the encounter with Yuki, she felt no desire to return to her room to ponder everything in silence.

…Was Hisoka back from his shift? The idiot had been hired as a card dealer on one of the casino floors of the mansion building. He hadn't bothered to share his working hours with her. Not that she cared when he got off. She had no intention of spending more time with the psycho than she had to. The longer he had to work, the better. She looked at Ryo's hopeful grin and shrugged mentally. Surely it couldn't hurt? He was just a kid, anyway. 

"Fine," she consented at last.

For a minute, he looked ready to explode with happiness. Then, with effort, he restrained his joy to bowing solemnly and offering an arm. With practiced cordiality, he said formally, "This way, ma'am."

And for the second time in years, Machi was completely taken offguard. By a child, no less. The past few days had been filled with nothing but torturous and bothersome encounters with men whom she would not hesitate to murder in their sleep. She stared for a long time at the gentlemanly gesture and then her lips turned upward in a sardonic curve. She took his arm, barely holding it but touching it all the same, "Hmph, so chivalry still exists, after all."

Ryo beamed. He didn't know what chivalry was but she had smiled and that was all that mattered.__

_~@@@~_

Machi sipped tea quietly from her cup. They were sitting outside, sharing a table similar to the one she had shared once with Nobunaga when they had gone on their "date". But the company, she felt, was much better this time. Ryo didn't have any qualms about buying her anything she liked on the menu nor did he get irritated when she didn't reply to his questions. 

The only thing she wished she could cut out of the picture was Ryo's constant chatter. But when he started rambling on and on about his family and how much he loved someone or another, she simply shifted her attention to the sky. The rain from last night had given away to sunshine. There were no clouds anywhere, only a wide, expanse of blue and a brilliant sun. 

It was so different from the sky that hung over Shooting Star Street, which had been a purple and gray painting of gloom, misery, and suffering. No yellow sun there, only bleak horizons and a cold wind. 

And yet, she had had a light…

"Himiko-san…"

A small voice cut through before she could begin to reminisce on memories long buried. With hidden gratitude that he had distracted her from unpleasant thoughts, she turned toward him and said not harshly, "What?"

 "Well, I was just wondering if one day… you would like to come over for dinner? Okaa-san makes a wonderful broccoli soup and you could meet my little sister…"

"You have a little sister?" she couldn't help but murmur. 

He grinned, "Her name's Hana. Very cute."

"No thank you," she decided and then, at his crestfallen demeanor, she couldn't help but add, "Your generosity is already too much as it is, boy. I'm a stranger, not someone you should treat kindly."

"But I want to!" he protested, "You don't have to pay me back… I just wanted…" He abruptly began stuttering, turning red, "I-I… just w-wanted…"

"What did you want?" she demanded, ready to scowl. Money? Favors? Money AND favors?? 

"…to be with you," he finished, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

And suddenly, she saw him as he was without her characteristic suspicion of people. He was lonely, that was all. She had not seen any other children around the Mafia building and she doubted highly that Ryo was enrolled in any school. Ultimately, he was just a kid without friends, reaching out to whoever he thought would be willing to befriend him. 

Well, he sure reached out to the wrong person, she thought grimly but somewhere inside her, she thought she could understand how loneliness could hurt. 

"Gomen nasai," he said miserably, obviously disheartened by her silence, "I shouldn't have said that. Now, you're just going to think I'm some stupid little kid with nothing better to do."

Her lips twitched, on the verge of forming a smile. Clueless as he was, he was still awfully amusing. "You're too kind," she said again and she told herself that it wasn't meant as a compliment. Kind people were weak. 

But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to wipe that cheered smile off his face. So instead, she motioned toward the counter in the inside, "Let's go pay."

"Hai!" he nodded, withdrawing his wallet with alacrity and running toward the glass door that led inside to the cafe.

She stood behind him patiently with arms crossed as the cashier, a cheerful-looking blonde girl, counted up the total. With a practiced grin, she announced perkily, "That'll be—"

Machi suddenly narrowed her eyes, her instinct blaring that something was going to happen. 

A sudden gunshot rang out. The display glass shattered and fell in a sharp, crystal shower of fragments. Somebody screamed. Then, a couple more shots in rapid succession.

She reacted quickly to the unexpected attack, leaping over the counter after the second bullet and ducking for safety before more could be fired. Briefly, she contemplated retaliated but then decided to wait until the shooting stopped. Beside her, the cashier dropped, her forehead spouting blood, her eyes wide in shock. 

Passing over the corpse casually, Machi searched for a adequate place to wait and spotted one just a few meters apart from the end of the counter. A table, nearby and empty. She moved swiftly and silently. The bullets were too slow to hit her and in the commotion that reigned, she doubted she had been spotted. 

Screams echoed loudly in the air, products of those who had not been as fortunate. From her spot under the table, she allowed her fingers to touch lightly the front of her dress. They came away crimson. Not her blood but someone's. It could've been the cashier but she had been stained before the girl had been hit. 

The shots had stopped. She waited for the perpetrators to appear. 

"…Is he alive??" 

"Yes, wounded in the shoulder and leg, but still breathing."

"Good."

Four men, clothed in black. One carried a machine gun, the others regular pistols. 

They were staring at the body of a child. They were talking about Ryo, who rested now in a pool of red that was growing by the minute. 

"Sir, there was a maid waiting with him but I didn't see where she went. Should we—"

"Forget her. She's not the target."

"Hai."

"Take him," the one with the machine gun said, who was obviously the leader, "He can sleep now. But I want him conscious by the time we reach headquarters so that we can tort—" 

Machi slid out from her hiding place and was behind him in a second. She snapped his neck before he could finish his sentence. It made a satisfying cracking sound. She let his motionless body drop to the floor. 

The remaining three gaped. One gaped too wide for her liking so she killed him, too. 

Of the two left, one regained enough of his wits to fire at her. 

"Useless," she said as she evaded the shot easily and wrapped a Nen thread around his neck. He let out a final, gasping noise before she willed the thread to weigh a ton and crush the bone connecting his brain and body.

The last survivor let his weapon fall with a clatter to the floor. He stared at his dead companions, who had been standing and talking and breathing only seconds ago. Then his eyes flickered to her, crazed with panic and disbelief, "W-who are you??"

"It'll be a waste of breath to tell you. You're not going to live long enough anyways."

"W-wait!" he backed away, putting up his hands in a cowardly defense and pleading, "I could give you information. Don't you want to know who sent me?"

"Was it someone that uses chains?" she returned.

"C-chains?"

Her hand shot out and broke his skull. "Didn't think so," she muttered disdainfully.

The café was a mess. Blood lined the walls in gruesome splashes and the customers had left corpses in their stead. All were dead… except one. 

She walked to where Ryo was lying and picked him up. His body was light in her arms and he shuddered in pain when she carried him toward the exit. She strode purposefully, crushing the glass shards on the ground unmercifully on her way out. The area outside the café was deserted. People had run when the guns had begun singing. In the distance, she could hear the police making their way towards the murder scene. 

And then, she remembered another time that she had clutched a small child to her body like this with their blood staining her clothes. 

Too late, she thought resentfully, as the sirens grew ever louder, You're always too late.

~@@@~

I'm basing some of Machi's reactions on the idea that the Genei Ryodan aren't completely inhuman and the possibility that they were normal, feeling people before they joined the Spider. I mean, the anime's already given some proof with Nobunaga and Pakunoda so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to apply this to other members, right? 

Anyways, comments and suggestions appreciated as always! Review, review, review!


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